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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27654995">A Friend's Eye is a Good Mirror</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_imaginings/pseuds/f_imaginings'>f_imaginings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Archive!Jon, Archivist Sasha James, Artificial Intelligence Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Canon-Typical Violence, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Time Travel Fix-It, a bit high stakes to be a happy ending fix it fic, time travel to prevent an apocalypse, unfortunately its not just jon who goes back in time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:08:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>79,537</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27654995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_imaginings/pseuds/f_imaginings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Sims faces the opportunity to go back to undo the work of The Eye and reshape the earth in accordance to the wishes of the Archive, but he doesn't go back alone.<br/>Jonah Magnus, Arbiter of the Eye and orchestrator of said apocalypse is not about to let his hard work be so blithely undone.</p>
<p>When the world winds itself back to January 20th, 2015, Sasha James has been promoted to Head Archivist after the bloke who was supposed to be Head Archivist picked his team of assistants and ditched before day 1. Now in charge of the disorganised Archives, Sasha struggles to piece together the loose threads connecting the statements into something that makes sense. </p>
<p>There's a new supercomputer in Artefact Storage that supposedly has all the answers. Having access to the Archivist Simulator could make her job a lot easier. Or make it a lot more complicated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>RaeLynn's Epic Rec List</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was there, at the centre of the Panopticon with the power of The Eye haloed around him, promising it’s unholy wrath to the disgusting wretch of a man standing before him, panting, wiping the thick splash of Martin’s blood from his forehead and holding his hands up in game fists in front of his face.</p>
<p>Martin lay collapsed on the floor to the side, every denizen of the apocalypse unable to lay a blow on him until now. Until this man, Jonah Magnus, James Wright, <em>Elias Bouchard</em> had struck him with one of the pipes he’d wrenched from the very walls. It would have been an ironic sort of hat trick if it hadn’t been so unbelievably horrific. Beaten him nearly to death in a matter of seconds.</p>
<p>He moved fast, faster than Jon had expected, and from the instant he’d shown up it was clear Jonah had no intentions of allowing Jon to smite him as he had so many of the other avatars wandering the hideous wastelands of the apocalypse. Defiant of Terminus to the very end.</p>
<p>Jon had shouted out something, Martin’s name. The Eye told him that he was still breathing, but barely, the breath coming out of him thick and wet, laboured. The clatter of the pipe dropping on the floor was the only other sound that had rung out between them since they arrived at the Panopticon, that horrid clanging sound.</p>
<p>The air was tangibly charged around them, heated with the power of The Eye. From The Eye’s beloved Archive, who directed it’s gaze so well, who brought it into it’s seat of power, the perfect conduit of fear, and The Eye’s Arbiter, the one who had coerced circumstances to usher in this brave new world. This perfect new world, where The Eye was so glutted with fear it saw all tremble in its gaze.</p>
<p>Jonah didn’t tremble now, holding his fists up as he stepped between the Archive and Martin Blackwood, bleeding out on the floor.</p>
<p>“Come to stop me, have you Jon? We can’t be having that.”</p>
<p>“Martin!” Jon spluttered, trying to get past Jonah, only for him to push him back, blocking him from reaching Martin. “You –“</p>
<p>“He’ll be dead soon Jon, and then you’ll have nothing to live for, so why not just give up now and save us both the trouble. Hand the Archive over to me, and I’ll continue your good work.”</p>
<p>“Never!”</p>
<p>“I promise I’ll kill you quick.” Elias promised, his tone congenial to the end, despite the crushing weight of The Eye bearing down on him.</p>
<p>“Not before I kill you first.” Jon snarled, rage flowing through him as surely as fear did, his hands curling into claws, the power of the eye lifting the air around him, charging the room with a growing static that became suffocating as the world tore itself down outside of the panopticon, rearranging reality in one final act of ungodly sight.</p>
<p>Martin Blackwood saw through fading vision Elias Bouchard lunge forward, arms outstretched to attack Jon, his Jon, with eyes opening all over his body, the static now oppressively loud. He croaked out Jon’s name with his final breath, at the end of the world only able to watch as The Archive shouted over the din.</p>
<p>
  <em> <strong>“CEASELESS WATCHER!”</strong> </em>
</p>
<p>Elias’s hands were around Jon’s throat, but still the worlds tumbled out of him, shaking the very earth as the world dismantled itself.</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>“I INVOKE - THE ENDURING - TRUTH!”</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>Everything disappeared in a blinding flash of white.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When colour returned to the world, it was the stark whites of one of the board rooms of the Magnus Institute. Jon and Elias landed on top of the long board room table; Elias’ hands still wrapped around Jon’s throat, pausing his onslaught to take in their altered surroundings.</p>
<p>The board room was empty thankfully, but the television on the wall used for video-conferencing was cycling through its screensaver the way it did after a meeting when a staff member forgot to switch the monitor off at the wall. On one side of the room was a whiteboard with notes regarding an upcoming library audit and plans to restructure the archival team jotted down alongside the date – Friday 20<sup>th</sup> January 2015.</p>
<p>Even with Elias’ hands around his throat, Jon started laughing.</p>
<p>His voice croaked weakly amidst his slightly hysterical laughter, repeating the words. “I did it. I did it, I –“</p>
<p>Tightening his grip on Jon’s throat, Elias’ mouth twisted with displeasure, choking the words of victory from The Archive’s mouth. Jon was still The Archive, that much was apparent. The eyes hadn’t left his skin, and there was still a trickle of power pervading the very air around him, but as Elias watched Jon choke he realised how vulnerable The Archive was, and how little power it had without the ability to speak.</p>
<p>Oh, he was certainly trying. Elias could feel Jon’s feeble hands press against his chest, his grubby fingernails scratched at his wrists, his mouth rounding over words that competed with desperate gasps. He felt the prickle of power raise the hairs on the back of his neck as Jon managed to splutter out the first half of the word ‘turn’ before, mincing no further words, Elias headbutted Jon, The Archive’s skull bouncing against the firm polished plastic of the tabletop.</p>
<p>Consciousness fled The Archive quickly enough. For a moment Elias worried that The Eye’s powers, having made Jon more durable, would disallow such damage, but The Eye never prevented The Archive from being damaged prior to his becoming, and Elias supposed that as now they were technically prior to the apocalypse entirely, there was a bit more leeway involved.</p>
<p>Panting, and straightening himself up, Elias patted down his hair, and then leaned forward, two fingers pressed against Jon’s neck, feeling his pulse.</p>
<p>Still alive.</p>
<p>Elias wasn’t sure what it would take to kill Jon now, as he certainly hadn’t stayed dead the first time round, but as he pondered that particular conundrum he realised that killing The Archive wasn’t the answer to all of his problems.</p>
<p>Looking around the room, eyes lingering on the date on the whiteboard, he considered that while there was certainly a lot of work involved between then and now to orchestrate his apocalypse, he needn’t abandon his goal just because his Archive was uncooperative the first time around.</p>
<p>“Of course, you aren’t going to make it easy on me, are you?” Elias asked Jon’s unconscious body, scoffing as if he expected some reply.</p>
<p>Elias crawled off the table and took a moment to straighten his clothes, pulling a handkerchief from his vest pocket and wiping away the remnants of blood disdainfully, before checking his reflection in the mirrored surface of the television monitor.</p>
<p>It was acceptable.</p>
<p>Correlating the events in his mind, Elias ducked his head out of the board room door just in time to snag one of the staff members walking past for a brief word.</p>
<p>“Rosie. Could you please give Peter Lukas a call? Something urgent has come up that requires his attention straight away. If you could get him to give me a call back and direct the call to this room that would be lovely.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Mr Bouchard.” Rosie startled, but replied dutifully, a cup of tea in one hand and a half a dozen files perched in the other.</p>
<p>“Thanks so much Rosie. As soon as you can please.” Elias smiled congenially and closed the board room door, Seeing her scurry off to do just that.</p>
<p>He removed the crunched remains of his mobile phone from his jacket pocket, unsurprised that technology hadn’t survived its brief trip to the apocalypse while his other belongings had. That went some way to discredit The Extinction after all the efforts made to beat it to the finish line, in terms of setting up a ritual.</p>
<p>Depositing it in the wastepaper bin in the corner of the room, Elias took a brief inventory of what had survived, before looking back over at Jon’s body still sprawled out on the table.</p>
<p>Fine lines dotted along his arms and throat, like tiny scars, a faint crease in the skin, and upon further inspection Elias recognised them as eyelids. All closed for now, but they wouldn’t be forever.</p>
<p>It was rather amusing, unconscious like this The Archive almost looked like a normal human being. Make an Avatar vulnerable and they were as good as human, really.</p>
<p>Elias would need to procure sedatives of significant power if he were to pull this off.</p>
<p>The phone in the corner of the boardroom rang.</p>
<p>“Ah Peter.” Elias spoke down the line, holding the phone to his head as he turned, still watching the faint rise and fall of The Archive’s chest throughout the call. “I’ll be needing you to pop through The Lonely ASAP and meet me here in the office. Something big has come up that I’ll need your help to secure safely in Artefact Storage. No, I assure you it’s urgent, and of import to us both. Bring some sedatives if you will – strong ones. I’m sure Salesa has contacts to procure that sort of thing. Excellent, I’ll see you soon.”</p>
<p>Setting the phone back down on the hook with a click, Elias paced back over to the table, leaning over it to examine his Archivist’s involuntary repose.</p>
<p>After a moment’s staring, Elias’s mouth twisted into a smile.</p>
<p>“Well Jon, let’s try this again, shall we?”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bit weird isn’t it? I mean, first they give the Head Archivist position to someone else, overlooking the obviously qualified Miss Sasha James for the role, no doubt blatant sexism at work. Then, the bloke doesn’t even show up, and now what? Back to square one?”</p>
<p>Tim Stoker chucked a soccer themed stress ball up in the air, his feet propped up on his desk, leaning back in his chair comfortably.</p>
<p>“Are you saying you’re not enthused about my promotion?” Sasha quirked an eyebrow, standing with an archive box of files propped up on her hip as she moved her belongings from her desk into the Head Archivist’s office, the exasperation in her voice tempered by humour.</p>
<p>“It just strikes me as odd, that’s all.” Tim shrugged. “Bit of a back and forth for nothing. They could have just given you the role in the first place.”</p>
<p>“Well I think you’re going to make a great Head Archivist Sasha.” Martin chimed in encouragingly, sorting through another one of the boxes.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Martin.” Sasha said pointedly, giving Tim a teasing look. “It’s nice to know <em>someone</em> is supportive.”</p>
<p>“I’m being supportive! I said they should have given you the job from the get-go.” Tim argued. “I’m just wondering what scared the other bloke off. Too much dodgy filing?”</p>
<p>“There is a lot of dodgy filing.” Martin concurred, still going through the box on his desk. “I think I found a bag of teeth in one box. It was disgusting. That’s probably the sort of thing that should go straight to Artefact Storage, let them handle it.”</p>
<p>“I’m so glad I’m shot of that place.” Sasha concurred with a laugh. “Artefact Storage was a nightmare.”</p>
<p>“I heard they just got some new disaster Artefact brought in recently too. Emily was telling me all about it on the weekend, they had to clear out a whole section, build a special room to house it in. Soundproof walls, windows, insulation, the lot. The whole team bogged down with a ton of overtime just to make room in the catalogue for it. If not for HR’s shifty with the Archivist’s role, you’d probably still be down there, moving bags of spooky teeth to make room for the newest monster book of the week or whatever.” Tim laughed, wiggling his fingers to emphasise the point.</p>
<p>“Oh god, don’t remind me.” Sasha groaned, then laughed. “I guess that’s one reason to thank our mystery Archivist for ditching the job. Gets me out of that spooky basement.”</p>
<p>“Trading one basement for the other.” Tim gestured to the Archives around him and waggled his eyebrows. “Shall we have a toast then? What was his name again?”</p>
<p>“Uh, Jonathan Sims, I think.” Martin answered, looking over his paperwork to the email sent before the HR shuffle.</p>
<p>“To Jonathan Sims!” Tim raised his teacup and grinned at Sasha and Martin cheekily. “For keeping our Sasha out of Artefact Storage and delivering her to the bosom of the Archives. Here’s cheers.”</p>
<p>“That’s not a good enough reason to say the word bosom Tim.” Sasha laughed and shoved Tim’s shoulder playfully on her way to the Archivist’s office.</p>
<p>“Says you!”</p>
<p>Martin sat at his desk, eyes still glued to the emails sent out several weeks ago, emails from this Jonathan Sims selecting the three of them to be his Archival Assistants.</p>
<p>“Jonathan Sims, huh?” Martin mused, reading the signature at the footer of the email with an odd sort of wistfulness he couldn’t quite describe, before he clicked out of the email and looked away.</p>
<p>Somewhere in the depths of the Magnus Institute, many eyes opened all at once.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sasha James set down the statement of Laura Popham and rubbed her forehead, a sigh slipping out of her. It had been several months since she was given the role of Head Archivist and she was still waiting for the point where this job would get easier.</p><p>She respected Gertrude, she really did, but the way the Archives were organised, if they’d even been organised at all, were really giving her a headache.</p><p>Or maybe it was the statements. Despite having been in this role for months now, it felt like she could barely get through more than two statements a week. Every statement had glaring holes in it, and the follow up was a total nightmare.</p><p>There were missing persons reports, unreliable accounts of the events, some things that could probably be dismissed as the workings of an overactive mind or someone needing mental health help in some cases, but also some details that were a little too conspicuous to be merely coincidence.</p><p>The office arrangements didn’t help. She got the feeling that the Head Archivist having their own office was more of a hindrance than a help. Sure, she managed to get through recording some of the statements without any interruptions in her office, and the process of transcribing statements from paper to the computer system was a whole other pain entirely (some of them couldn’t be recorded!! She had to use old magnetic tape recorders, of all things) but the office just made her feel isolated.</p><p>Rather than spending all her time holed up in there, Sasha set up shop in the other room, snagging her old desk, preferring to do the investigative work in a more open plan environment. Being holed up in that oppressive little room couldn’t be good for a person. Being isolated never was.</p><p>“Got another interesting one guys.” Sasha waved the folio at Tim and Martin as she fled the Archivists office, plonking herself down at her old desk.</p><p>“Oooh, an interesting one. Interesting like the one about the sweet old lady who mails people toes in boxes or the homeless tweaker who thinks he’s a vampire hunter?” Tim queried with a grin, spinning around on his office chair. “That one’s my favourite. Do you have a favourite statement Martin?”</p><p>“Well the one about Wilfred Owen was, um, ah – I mean it was certainly an interesting take on it all.” Martin stammered, privately wondering if he needed to give a more scholarly answer or if Tim was just joking around.</p><p>“Wilfred Owen.” Tim said simply, with a teasing grin. “The poet.”</p><p>“Oh shut it you. Leave him alone.” Sasha chided, confirming Tim’s teasing in a way that made Martin’s neck flush red with embarrassment. That was one way to confirm Tim had been reading his cast-off scraps of poetry. He thought he put those in the bin.</p><p>Tim simply laughed and continued spinning on his office chair.</p><p>“This one’s about a woman who lost her sister on a cave dive.” Sasha explained, tapping the folio on the table. “Something about Lost John’s Cave. Didn’t make a lot of sense but there’s a council caving club I can follow up with, and she gave pretty clear descriptions of her route. Supposedly there’s a video somewhere too? If we can find it, that is. Gertrude mentioned something about Laura taking a camera with her, but it wasn’t mentioned in the statement.”</p><p>“That almost sounds like a cut and dry case file. Would be nice to have one of those.” Tim remarked, spinning his chair around to face the computer, looking up where the video could be. “Said video is indeed logged. Says on the system its somewhere in Artefact Storage, lets hope it’s actually where the system says it is and isn’t floating around in one of these boxes.”</p><p>“I really don’t want to go down to fetch it. You know that place gives me the creeps.” Sasha whinged, scratching beneath her headband in frustration. “I can call the council club, maybe check the route described against some of the charted maps. Can one of you two fetch the video? Pretty please?”</p><p>“I would, but Emily’s been pretty short with me since our date went south.” Tim replied with a shrug. “Can give it a go. Or I can follow up with the person who filed the missing person’s report, see if they left out any details?”</p><p>“Martin?” Sasha looked over at Martin, who was studiously straightening a pile of papers on his desk, a blatant attempt to avoid her gaze.</p><p>“Oh, I – I mean. I guess I could go down there? I haven’t been down there before, is all. I don’t exactly – how creepy is it?” His voice lilted at the end of his sentence, and Sasha shot Tim a look before he laughed out loud. Tim didn’t need more reasons to joke at Martin’s expense, the poor man was nervous enough already.</p><p>“It’s no creepier than the rest of this place.” Sasha quipped, before scribbling a withdrawal form and passing it to Martin. “Don’t stress, it’ll be really easy. You just go down there, speak to the team. Emily is usually really helpful. Amir too, if you get a hold of him. They’ll be able to fetch you the video, you wait a little while for them to find it, and then just bring it back up here. Oh, and don’t touch anything down there! That’s all. Easy, right?”</p><p>“Right.” Martin said, as if he didn’t quite believe her, but took the form regardless and made to get out of his chair.</p><p>“You’re a gem Martin.” Sasha smiled at him and returned focus to her computer screen.</p><p>Martin sighed, before heading for the door. Tim was watching him leave, a teasing smile on his face.</p><p>“You’re a gem Martin.” Tim repeated, somehow making the praise mocking yet friendly in that incessant way of his.</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Martin opened the door and left the Archives, Tim calling out behind him.</p><p>“Don’t get eaten by any weird books while you’re down there!”</p><p>“Right, I’ll be sure not to do that.” Martin muttered to himself, closing the Archive doors behind him.</p><p>The corridors of the Magnus Institute were long and foreboding, each footstep echoed, and within that soundscape Martin’s irritated murmur could be heard.</p><p>“Who gets eaten by a book anyway?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Artefact Storage <em>was</em> creepy.</p><p>In the same way that empty libraries and cavernous dust filled warehouses were creepy. It was all long corridors, floor to ceiling shelving with barcodes and catalogues marking the whereabouts of each piece of the Institute’s inventory.</p><p>There were books as well. No doubt Leitners, chained to the shelves as if whoever was cataloguing the place half suspected the books would just pick up and walk off on their own. Maybe they could.</p><p>It all seemed dingy, and Artefact Storage had what Martin could only describe as ‘heavy air’. The sort of air that tasted like dust and felt nearly as oppressive as the echo of your footsteps bouncing back at you in the near silent storage facilities.</p><p>Waiting for Amir or Emily or any of the staff to show up made Martin uneasy too. There was no one at front desk or anything.</p><p>Walking further into Artefact Storage with his hands in his pockets (not touching anything as per Sasha’s ominous instructions) Martin wondered if anyone else was in here with him. If he was supposed to wait in here until someone showed up to assist him, or if they’d all just gone on lunch, all at the same time.</p><p>“Uh, hello?” Martin asked into the deserted warehouse and heard only his own echo in reply.</p><p>“A-Amir? Emily? I – I’m here to withdraw a tape for the Archive Team. I’ve got the form.” Martin quested, beginning to walk up and down the aisles now, trying very hard <em>not</em> to look at the rusty knives with mysterious stains tagged with the institute’s logo and reference number. He also tried very hard not to look at the books, all with ominous sounding titles, some bound with peculiar leathers, one with a variety of plucked teeth sticking out of the spine of the book in question. He didn’t want to look at those.</p><p>Everything in here seemed ancient, in the way that Martin expected old Artefacts to look, which is why he was surprised when he reached the end of one aisle to see what looked like a computer monitor mounted on the wall, with a keyboard beneath.</p><p>Maybe this was like a service desk? Did he need to submit his enquiry here before someone would come out to help him?</p><p>There was a door beside the monitor, locked with key card access only, and the shape of the wall made Martin think there must have been some kind of room back there. A break room maybe?</p><p>Walking closer to the monitor, Martin pulled the withdrawal form from out of his pocket and looked between it and the keyboard, wondering if he just had to type in the form number.</p><p>“Hmm, maybe you can help me.” Martin mumbled to himself, when suddenly words began to roll across the screen as if someone on the other side was typing.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>MARTIN!! MARTIN, IT’S YOU OH THANK GOD. MARTIN, MARTIN HELP ME PLEASE!!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Martin’s eyes widened, and he looked around the room warily, backing away from the computer slightly. “Creepy computer that knows my name. Right, that’s not a good sign. Uh, Emily? Amir!”</p><p><em><strong>MARTIN WAIT!</strong></em> The text read, and suddenly words began to flow, like long lines of code streaming down the screen moving almost too fast for Martin to read it.</p><p>He heard footsteps, maybe someone from the AS team coming to help him, and he tore his gaze away from the screen briefly when he heard a voice.</p><p>“Is that you Blackwood? Enquiries desk is at the front mate, what are you looking for?”</p><p>It was Amir, and Martin sighed in relief as he came down the end of the aisle to meet him.  </p><p>Words were still filling the screen, phrases that made little sense but seemed to be directed at him specifically. Things like <em><strong>WHATEVER YOU DO DON’T INVESTIGATE CARLOS VITTERY’S FLAT ALONE</strong></em> and <em><strong>DON’T LET SASHA LOOK AT THE TABLE</strong></em> and something about CO2 and fire extinguishers. It was honestly a little overwhelming.</p><p>Stammering and holding out the withdrawal form to Amir, feeling like he’d done something wrong by setting off whatever computer program was attached to the monitor, Martin explained.</p><p>“I went to the front desk, but nobody was there. I’m er, I’m supposed to withdraw Laura Popham’s video tape. We’re studying the cave diving missing persons case and Tim said you had it on file.”</p><p>Rather than respond, Amir let out an impressed whistle, gesturing to the monitor behind Martin. “Never seen it do this before.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t touch it or anything. I don’t even know what it is.” Martin explained awkwardly as text continued to spill over the screen. “I was just standing here, I swear.”</p><p>“No, no I believe you Blackwood. We’re still trying to figure out what it is ourselves. Big Boss says its some sort of Leitner affiliated Archivist Simulator. They only brought it in a couple of months ago. It supposedly knows everything. Bouchard wanted us to use it like an in house spooky google for case files, but we’ve never really been able to get it to work.” Amir laughed, and scratched the back of his head, leaning over to peer at the words on the screen. “Every time we try it just tells us to blind ourselves and run away so this is quite the result.”</p><p>“Oh, um, you’re welcome I guess?” Martin replied awkwardly, his eyes darting back to the screen where the words read <em><strong>DON’T TRUST ELIAS, GERTRUDE WAS MURDERED, DON’T LET MELANIE JOIN THE INSTITUTE, KEEP TIM AWAY FROM THE CIRCUS, AVOID THE YELLOW DOORS, THE WORMS ARE UNDER THE ARCHIVES, HE CAN’T SEE IN THE TUNNELS</strong></em>.</p><p>After a while the words just seemed to be predominantly his name, along with admonitions to be safe and be careful and something about his tea making skills?</p><p>Amir laughed and clapped him on the back. “I think it likes you Blackwood.”</p><p>“Right.” Martin shook his head, rather unnerved by this point. “Laura Popham’s tape?”</p><p>“Of course! Right this way.” Amir grinned and lead Martin back up the aisle towards the front of the warehouse.</p><p>Martin didn’t look back at the computer screen as he left, but even without looking he was certain it would just be his name on the screen, the computer calling out to him as he walked away.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Two weeks passed like normal in the Institute (or as normal as life in the Institute <em>could</em> be), and Martin didn’t give a second’s thought to his disturbing encounter with the computer in Artefact Storage until two Thursday’s after the incident.</p><p>Sasha was divvying up the investigative work for the coming week, piles of statements split up on her desk with various annotations added to the files.</p><p>Tim and Martin were sitting at their desks, positioned close enough in the cramped Archives that they could easily pass the files between the three of them.</p><p>“So, I’ve got follow up with Lee Rentoul’s landlord up for grabs, some complaint to smooth over from Miss Herne. Apparently, we’ve got to suck up to statement givers associated with the Lukases because they’re donors for the Institute, got an email through from Elias right after she gave her statement. Bit of nepotism, but that’s whatever. Don’t even know what she was complaining about honestly.” Sasha scoffed, and moved the folio into one of her piles.</p><p>“Then we’ve got fact checking for the Julia Montauk statement, because apparently, thank you Tim, the details don’t match up with the ‘BBC special’ on her. I’m putting that in your pile Stoker. Aaand address confirmation for Carlos Vittery. Any takers?”</p><p>“I can schmooze with Rentoul’s landlord.” Tim volunteered, leaning forward to snag the files from Sasha’s desk. “Landlords love me.”</p><p>“Sure.” Sasha said, rolling her eyes and smiling.</p><p>“They do!” Tim argued. “Remember that one flat I was renting up in Leytonstone? Once a week the landlady would come over and she’d bring me poundcake. Poundcake Sasha.”</p><p>“Alright Mr Poundcake Man. Martin, can you do Carlos Vittery then?” Sasha asked.</p><p>Martin hesitated before speaking, the pause considerable enough for both Tim and Sasha to take notice.</p><p>“Ah, can – can I not? I – it’s just that – god this is going to sound so silly.”</p><p>“What is?” Sasha frowned slightly, taking Martin’s concern a lot more seriously than Tim, who was already preparing to waggle his eyebrows.</p><p>“Well, I mean, maybe I’m just being a bit superstitious. It’s just – ah - do you remember when I went down to Artefact Storage about two weeks ago for the cave diving tape?”</p><p>“For sister of the year?” Tim raised an eyebrow. “Two hours of ‘take her not me’. I’m not about to forget that in a hurry.”</p><p>“I remember.” Sasha ignored Tim’s interruption, keeping Martin on track. “Go on.”</p><p>“I was looking for Amir because he wasn’t at the front desk when I came in, so I was walking down the aisles a bit and I thought I saw what could have been a break room, or - or like a service desk. It was a locked room with a monitor on the wall and a keyboard just towards the back.”</p><p>“Don’t remember a break room when I was there.” Sasha frowned.</p><p>“Amir said it’s new. Apparently, its some kind of omniscient supercomputer? At least that’s what Amir said. It’s – it’s like a Leitner that knows everything, but in a computer, and its supposed to help us with case files down the track. Anyway apparently there have been glitches, like it wouldn’t talk to Amir’s team at all, it just kept telling them all to blind themselves and gouge their eyes out and awful – awful stuff like that. But when I was there it – uh – it spoke to me? It knew my name, and how I made my tea and stuff, and it said I shouldn’t go to Vittery’s apartment?” Martin explained, his voice lilting into a question in the end.</p><p>“So that’s why you don’t wanna go?” Tim asked sceptically. “Because computer said no? A Leitner computer?”</p><p>“Well I wasn’t just going to believe it! But – I mean – it mentioned you and Sasha and – and it was – it was saying all sorts of things about how we were all in danger, and how I shouldn’t go to Carlos’ flat, and how Sasha shouldn’t <em>look at a table</em>, and how Tim shouldn’t go to the Circus and nobody should trust Elias and – and that Gertrude was murdered and all sorts of things!”</p><p>“Gertrude was murdered?” Sasha exclaimed, her eyes widening.</p><p>“I mean, I don’t know! That’s what it said.” Martin shrugged, obviously confused.</p><p>“You said this thing was like a Leitner. What makes you think you can trust it?” Sasha followed up quickly.</p><p>“Well, I don’t – I mean, but like – it sounded sentient? Like, it sounded like a person? It was typing like it - like it <em>knew me</em>, if that makes sense, and it kept telling me to be safe and be careful and I’ve just got this feeling that if I <em>do</em> go to Vittery’s flat now that the computer told me not to, something <em>really</em> bad is going to happen.”</p><p>Sasha had another reality check question at the tip of her tongue, but Tim spoke over her, his whole body tense and his expression deadly serious. It was like nothing Sasha had ever seen before, at least not from Tim.</p><p>“Did it say anything else about the Circus?”</p><p>Martin’s mouth fell open in shock too, and he gaped at Tim for a moment before finding his words. “Um, I – maybe? Amir found me by then and there was a lot of text in a really short period of time, so I didn’t read it all. It kind of creeped me out a bit honestly. I left in a hurry.”</p><p>“Hold on, hold on.” Sasha held her hands up, trying to wrap her head around this. “I’m guessing from your face that the Circus means something to you, and we’ll touch on that in a bit, but are you really telling me that we’ve had an all knowing supercomputer sitting in Artefact Storage this whole time, and nobody’s said anything about it?? You don’t think that with all the dead ends and questions we’ve had in all of these cases that a supercomputer that can see <em>all the answers</em> is probably something we should have known about?”</p><p>“They did say it had like, bugs and stuff. What with the telling everyone to gouge their eyes out and all.” Martin offered timidly.</p><p>“Did it tell you to do that?” Sasha questioned.</p><p>“No, it didn’t.” Martin shook his head.</p><p>“We’re going down there.” Tim said decisively, getting up from his chair.</p><p>“Tim! We don’t even know what it is, and you’re just going to trust it?” Sasha reasoned.</p><p>“I just want to ask it some questions, that’s all. I didn’t say I trusted it, but if it’s got information on the Circus then I’m willing to take the chance to find out.” Tim explained, reaching for his coat.</p><p>“It’s a Leitner computer. What if it tricks you?”</p><p>“Don’t act like you aren’t curious as well Sasha.” Tim chided her. “You’ve been going on and on about Gertrude’s disappearance ever since you got that weird statement about her the other day. From the bloke with the fake name. You thought it was a prank, what if it’s not, huh? Are you really going to let the chance to get answers just slip by on this one?”</p><p>“That’s not what I’m saying, I’m just – we’ve got to be careful about this okay? We can’t just go running into danger.”</p><p>“It’s a computer Sash. How dangerous can it be?” Tim said flippantly.</p><p>“It’s in Artefact Storage. Therefore, it could be <em>very</em> dangerous.” Sasha beseeched.</p><p>“If you don’t want to go back down to Artefact Storage, all you have to do is say so.” Tim said, putting his hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “If that’s what this is about, that’s what this is about, and nobody is making you go down there.”</p><p>“That’s not what this is about.” Sasha promised, her eyebrows still creased with a little frown.</p><p>“Right.” Tim clapped her on the shoulder, and then opened the door out of the office. “You coming then?”</p><p>Sasha stewed on the decision for a while, before her shoulders slumped in defeat.</p><p>“Alright, fine.”</p><p>“Martin?” Tim turned to the other man, cocking his head.</p><p>“Oh, um, you want me to come?” Martin fretted, assuming that this was Tim’s excursion alone.</p><p>“Course I do. The computer likes you. Come on!”</p><p>Martin got out of his chair to follow, grumbling to himself.</p><p>“Why does everyone keep telling me that?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The three of them made it down to Artefact Storage within ten minutes, despite the bickering that continued on the way.</p>
<p>When they reached the desk at the front of the warehouses, Emily was sitting there, playing candy crush on her phone.</p>
<p>“Awkward.” Tim murmured, pushing Sasha in front of him and hiding behind her when they approached the desk.</p>
<p>Sasha was tall, and her hair did take up space nicely, but even with Tim crouching down, it was obvious Emily spotted him straight away.</p>
<p>“Stoker. I can see you, you know.” Emily said, her tone dour and unimpressed.</p>
<p>“Emily.” Tim stayed behind Sasha, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, his tone incongruously warm.</p>
<p>“Ignoring the fact that Tim is suddenly five years old.” Sasha scoffed, yanking him out from behind him, her hand pinching his arm despite all dramatics from Mr Stoker. “Believe it or not, we’re actually here to do our jobs. Or something job adjacent anyway.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah, I know. You’re just <em>all</em> business.” Emily sneered at Tim, choosing to depart from professionalism.</p>
<p>“Emily come on.” Tim started, and Sasha held her hand up.</p>
<p>“Look, I’m not getting in the middle of this. We’re here to check out an Artefact.”</p>
<p>“Do you have a withdrawal form?” Emily asked with a loud sigh.</p>
<p>“Well, not ‘check out’ check out.” Sasha deferred. “Apparently there’s some new computer?”</p>
<p>“Oh that. Honestly, it’s more trouble than it’s worth. The IT department’s no help either.” Emily complained.</p>
<p>“We want to see it, if we can.” Sasha pressed.</p>
<p>“Right now?” Emily raised her eyebrow incredulously, taking in the trio’s eager expressions as confirmation.</p>
<p>Putting down her phone, Emily turned to her computer, typing a little. She opened her mouth as if to advise something, then paused, a somewhat devious smile hinting at her lips.</p>
<p>“Sure thing. Go right ahead.” She nodded to the door, fixing Tim in particular with an ambiguously knowing expression.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Sasha said, grabbing both Tim and Martin’s wrists and pulling them through the doors to Artefact Storage.</p>
<p>Emily didn’t follow them, and the doors to Artefact Storage closed behind the Archival team.</p>
<p>“That was suspiciously easy.” Tim commented, looking over his shoulder at the door. “Too easy. Kindness like that is not to be trusted.”</p>
<p>“I just want to be in and out, that’s all. What the hell did you do to her, by the way? The way she was looking at you it’s pretty obvious she hates your guts.” Sasha hissed at Tim, still dragging him down the aisles.</p>
<p>“I may have broken things off with her by saying we shouldn’t date in the workplace.” Tim replied with a wince, and Sasha stopped midstride to look at him.</p>
<p>“You dated Kent from Accounts. And Marie from HR.”</p>
<p>“It was an excuse okay! She was getting super possessive, way uncool. Had to cut and run.”</p>
<p>“Uhuh. Cut and run from commitment?” Sasha teased.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah. Keep walking you. You can roast my love life later.”</p>
<p>“It’s just up ahead here.” Martin reminded them, the first thing he’d said since he left the office.</p>
<p>He was a little nervous to come back to the computer honestly. Nervous because what if it <em>was</em> a Leitner trying to trick him, but also nervous because of how much the computer knew about him? I mean, sure, its always nice to be noticed, and that something was paying enough attention to Martin to know how he took his tea was kind of flattering, if a little creepy.</p>
<p>But deliberately walking up to a computer that knows everything with his boss and his co-worker was nerve wracking because what if it told them he’d lied on his CV? If the computer outed his lack of qualifications, he could kiss this job goodbye, and he really needed to keep a job if he were going to keep up the payments to mum’s care home.</p>
<p>Amir said the computer liked him? Maybe it would like him enough not to throw him under the bus, but honestly, he had no idea, and he didn’t want to find out.</p>
<p>As the trio reached the end of the corridor, the room with the monitor on the wall was within sight, but just as they approached it the door to the left of the monitor opened and Elias Bouchard came out from the room with a research technician, a printed page of what looked like a poem held in his hand.</p>
<p>“Until it’s behaviour improves only give it a stanza or two from the top, no matter how much it begs.”</p>
<p>“Yes Mr Bouchard.”</p>
<p>On the screen to the side, words began to light up in quick succession, but they didn’t look like standard computer command codes.</p>
<p>In large letters the words read!</p>
<p><strong><em>MARTIN YOU CAME BACK! AND TIM AND SASHA, OH THANK GOD</em></strong>.</p>
<p>The trio noticed the words, blinking between them and the Institute Head, who noticed their approach now.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>YOU HAVE TO HELP ME. IT’S ME, J-</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Elias reached over to the bottom of the monitor and turned the screen off, the words disappearing abruptly.</p>
<p>The Archival team seemed to blink in unison, all frozen to the spot as Bouchard raised an expectant brow at them all, making them feel like they’d just been caught in the act of doing something wrong.</p>
<p>“Miss James, what brings you and your team to the warehouse today?” He asked, his tone crisp and confrontational.</p>
<p>“I, um, we were just hoping to – ah.” Sasha fumbled with her words, struggling until Tim stepped in to help.</p>
<p>“We heard there was a computer down here that could help with our case files. Standard avenues are running up a few dead ends, you see, and we heard –“</p>
<p>“You heard about our new little project, did you?” Elias surmised. “Surprising, its hardly common knowledge just yet you see. Somewhat of a work in progress. We’re still ironing out the kinks so to speak.”</p>
<p>“Is it an AI then?” Tim asked boldly.</p>
<p>“Something along those lines.” Bouchard replied vaguely. “Unfortunately, until it learns to obey commands, I’m afraid leasing it out to other departments is out of the question. It’s not much of a resource unless it can fit it’s intended purpose. I’m sure you understand.”</p>
<p>“I –“ Sasha started, but Martin interrupted her, his interjection rather unexpected.</p>
<p>“How did it know so much about us?”</p>
<p>The surprise that flared for a second across Bouchard’s face was quickly chased with a sour sort of frustration, before smoothing out into something more congenial if a little forced. The emotions passed across his face so quickly it was enough to make you doubt they’d been there at all.</p>
<p>“Of course, my Archivist reached out to you. Why am I not surprised?” Pushing his hair back with one hand, Elias smiled – more of a bearing of teeth really. “I wouldn’t pay it any mind Blackwood. That’s one of the kinks we’re trying to iron out. A surveillance based system such as The Archive is only good if it’s impartial. Obsessive behaviours like the ones it’s been displaying present a safety risk, which is why of course we’ve been investing so much time into reprogramming it, you see. Nobody wants a technological stalker.”</p>
<p>He said it with a laugh, but the laugh didn’t seem directed at Martin’s stunned expression. Rather it seemed he was laughing at something the archival team couldn’t see, the laugh was so terribly indulgent.</p>
<p>“The Archive then? That’s what it’s called.” Sasha questioned. “Or the Archivist? Is now the time I ask about my job security?”</p>
<p>Elias laughed again, as if the very idea of Sasha worrying about losing her job was the height of comedy.</p>
<p>“You’ve nothing to worry about Miss James. Your role as Head Archivist is quite safe. The Archive and the Archivist are quite different, you see, and while there can be various different Archivists, there is only one Archive.”</p>
<p>That vague explanation did nothing to make things any clearer.</p>
<p>“Do the research team need help with figuring out the system?” Tim asked, still trying to find a way to access the monitor that Elias was blocking from his view. “I could –“</p>
<p>“Mr Stoker, while your initiative is appreciated, the research team here have the situation well within hand. Accessing the Archive is unfortunately restricted until such a time that the Archive’s responses become somewhat more manageable. Any requests to interact with the system will need approval through the appropriate channels and currently there is restricted access to the Archive simulator. Myself and the research team only, until further notice. Now, I’m certain you have your own work to be getting back to, so if you will.”</p>
<p>Tim grimaced, and Sasha frowned, trying one more time for Tim’s sake.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you don’t want us to have a look at it. Amir said that it responded to Martin – maybe we could –“</p>
<p>“Miss James, if you are so eager to return to work in Artefact Storage I’m sure a transfer can be arranged.” Elias said, his tone sounding much more threatening than accommodating. “You seemed quite keen to transfer out of there last time we spoke, but of course, if you’ve changed your mind?”</p>
<p>The colour drained all at once from Sasha’s face, her dark skin blanching as much as it were possible to, before she grabbed both Tim and Martin’s wrists again, backing out immediately.</p>
<p>“No. All good. Thank you Sir.”</p>
<p>She began tugging them out of the warehouse, the two men stumbling to keep up with her. Elias watched them leave, his eyes following them right up til the door to Artefact Storage closed behind them.</p>
<p>Turning back to the research assistant beside him, Elias passed the page of poetry to the tech.</p>
<p>“Make this one last a month.”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t the Archive need um, actual statements sir? If we’re to have a successful cutover –“</p>
<p>“And reward it for bad behaviour? Heavens no. Just follow instructions Jeremy, and if you could, send Paul from IT up to my office when you get a chance. It’s about time we had a little chat.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Mr Bouchard.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>A fortnight passed after the incident in Artefact Storage, and it was obvious Sasha was rattled by what had happened down there.</p>
<p>Questions played on everyone’s mind, but the topic of the computer wasn’t broached as whenever it was mentioned, Sasha seemed determined to keep her head down, as if paranoid that if she discussed the computer, even out of earshot of Elias, she’d get in trouble for it.</p>
<p>It was obvious this frustrated Tim, but it was also evident just how scared Sasha was. Whatever she’d gone through in her time in Artefact Storage, it was clear she didn’t want to go back there, and Elias’ threat hit exactly the right notes to ensure her compliance.</p>
<p>Tim was worried for her, missing the cheerful happy Sasha he’d gotten so used to, the one who joked over every other statement, and who smiled as bright as the yellow cardigans and socks she wore into the office and who took him seriously about the Circus without a second thought. He didn’t want to freak her out, or give her reason to be fearful of a sudden departmental transfer, so he dropped the topic, and things continued as normal, with only the undercurrent of things left unsaid souring each day.</p>
<p>Martin therefore didn’t expect it when one day, on the way between the break room and his desk, cup of tea in hand, his elbow was snagged by Tim, the other man looping his arm around Martin’s shoulder congenially.</p>
<p>“Martin! Can I buy you lunch? My shout.”</p>
<p>“Um, er, I packed a lunch actually, so I don’t –“</p>
<p>“Oh come on. Anywhere you like, seriously.”</p>
<p>“Well, I just made a cuppa, and I do have a lot of work to get through so –“</p>
<p>“Martin, are you seriously turning me down? You’ll hurt my feelings. Spurned by the elusive Martin Blackwood, forever left adrift, ruined for all other men. I think I might just cry you know.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re such a drama queen.” Martin huffed, his face flushing, putting his tea down on his desk before he spilled it, what with the way Tim kept tugging his arm. “You’re not going to stop until I say yes, are you?”</p>
<p>“What can I say, you’re a man in demand. Was that a yes?” Tim ducked down and watched Martin’s face carefully with twinkling eyes. “I really will start crying. Waterworks in three, two, o-“</p>
<p>“Alright fine, yes. I’ll go to lunch with you. So pushy.” Martin relented.</p>
<p>“Excellent. Shall we go now?” Tim said, reaching for Martin’s coat.</p>
<p>“Wha – now? Tim, I haven’t even finished my tea.” Martin protested, swept up by Tim’s whirlwind pushiness.</p>
<p>“It’ll be there when you get back.” He said, his arm on Martin’s shoulder, steering him towards the door. “No time like the present. How do you feel about Italian?”</p>
<p>Martin sighed, and resigned himself to cold tea, Italian food and whatever shenanigans Tim was planning.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Spearing gnocchi onto his fork, Martin Blackwood found himself cramped into a booth at a lovely Italian place just off the Thames Embankment, Tim Stoker leaning conspiratorially across the booth, gesticulating with a breadstick as he detailed the reason for this impromptu lunch date.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, are you referring to the computer that’s apparently <em>stalking</em> me?” Martin exclaimed.</p>
<p>“I just want to know what it said to you. Details, if you could. I can’t discuss it with Sasha, and every time I try and get down there to investigate myself Emily blackballs me at the door. So far you’re my only lead.”</p>
<p>“But, I mean, I don’t know why you’d even want to go down there. You heard Elias –“</p>
<p>Tim laughed darkly. “Oh, I heard him alright. Had a lot to say for someone who didn’t tell us much.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m sure he has his reasons, and he seems to know what’s best -”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sure he does have his reasons. I don’t trust those reasons, and I don’t trust him. The way he spooked Sasha. He’s definitely hiding something. I don’t think any of us should be trusting him to ‘know what’s best’. I don’t think for one second that Elias <em>Bouchard</em> has any of our best interests in mind.”</p>
<p>Martin pondered that for a moment, falling silent as he looked down to his half-eaten meal.</p>
<p>“The computer said that too. Not to trust him.” Martin said eventually.</p>
<p>“And what else did it say?” Tim probed, eyes glued to Martin, the tremble in his lip indicating that the dam was breaking.</p>
<p>“I don’t know Tim. I mean, it sounded like a person. Like an actual person, and it kept asking us for help, you saw that.” Martin fretted. “It makes more sense if its just a computer with a bug, because if it’s a person, or thinks it’s a person or – or is sentient then what is it doing in Artefact Storage? And – and if it’s a Leitner that just thinks it’s a person, or if it’s a person sucked into a Leitner or something – what are we supposed to do about it? Do we get it out? Do we leave it there? Do we just – ask it questions?? I don’t know!”</p>
<p>“Easy Martin.” Tim held his hands up. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to save it, I just wanted to know what it said.”</p>
<p>“It said things about protecting you. About protecting us. Like it needed our help but also wanted to <em>help us</em>.” Martin explained, full of anxiety, having thought several steps ahead here. “Help protect us from what? And it would be – it would be easier if it <em>was</em> just a computer with a bug, because then there might not <em>be</em> something after us. We might not <em>be</em> in danger. From our own boss apparently, because we can’t trust Elias, and we have to avoid yellow doors, and – and worms apparently, and Sasha can’t look at a table? I just –“</p>
<p>Tim reached across the table and grabbed Martin’s arm as all the anxiety he’d been holding in about the computer bled out of him, his attempt to act like everything is normal folding under scrutiny. It was clear to Tim that despite Martin not talking about the computer, he obviously had been thinking about it, and thinking on it much deeper than Tim had given credit for.</p>
<p>Tim was still stuck on the prospect of answers about the Circus from the computer, and here was Martin already in his mind debating the personhood of the computer in question and whether its rights were being violated simply by leaving it there.</p>
<p>Tim just wanted to know what happened to his brother, but here was Martin already planning to – to free it? Whatever was in the computer.</p>
<p>“Martin. Martin, it’s okay.” Tim assured him, watching Martin try to pull himself back together after letting all of that out.</p>
<p>“It’s obvious that you’ve thought about this more than I have but let’s take this one step at a time. You think the computer is sentient?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Martin nodded. “It seemed like it was relieved to see us, like it knew us, and it was asking for help like – like it was trapped in the computer or something. And you saw it, right before Mr Bouchard turned the screen off, it was like it was trying to introduce itself.”</p>
<p>“Do you think it’s someone we know?” Tim pressed.</p>
<p>“Well, it certainly seemed to think so but – I mean, before we joined the Archive team, I can’t exactly say the three of us were close? Certainly not close enough to all have a mutual … person that’s gone missing.”</p>
<p>“I knew Sasha from before the restructure, but I see what you mean.” Tim conceded. “You’ve been Martin the mystery for the most part. Seems a bit of a stretch for us all to have a mutual friend we’ve conveniently forgotten.”</p>
<p>“I mean, it could happen. You remember Amy Patel’s statement?”</p>
<p>“You think that’s what’s going on? But nobody’s been replaced, have they?” Tim frowned, looking down at his meal. “Would we even know?”</p>
<p>“I – I don’t think this is the same as Amy Patel’s statement.” Martin clarified quickly. “I’m just saying there could be a lot we don’t know. Something spooky could be happening.”</p>
<p>“Something spooky is happening. We’re talking about a sentient computer in a spooky basement trying to warn us about yellow doors, worms and tables apparently.” Tim joked, trying to bring back a little brevity to the conversation.</p>
<p>“And um, the circus?” Martin added, watching the way Tim’s shoulders tensed at the very mention of the word. “That obviously means something to you, and it’d be better if we were all on the same page. You didn’t care about the spooky computer until I mentioned it said something about the circus. You don’t have to tell us, but I think it might be better if you did, so we’d understand.”</p>
<p>Tim’s mouth twisted uncomfortably, and he sighed. “You’re right. I will tell you, but it’s probably better to tell everyone at once. We can’t leave Sasha out of this. I know she’s trying to keep her head down so Bouchard doesn’t send her back to Artefact Storage, but we need to find a way to get answers about what he’s up to. She doesn’t need that hanging over her head, and it seems to me like a computer that knows everything might have enough leverage to stop him from following through on his threats.”</p>
<p>“Are you saying we should blackmail our boss?” Martin questioned in disbelief.</p>
<p>Tim shrugged. “It’s that or just quit.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Martin muttered, thrown by this but seeming to consider it. “Right.”</p>
<p>“Now did your computer boyfriend tell you anything else? Anything that might be helpful?”</p>
<p>Martin flushed at the word boyfriend, and opened his mouth to dispute that, before realising that saying ‘it’s not my boyfriend’ would just sound stupid. He wasn’t five.</p>
<p>Instead Martin paused before finally saying.</p>
<p>“He said something about tunnels. ‘He can’t see in the tunnels’ was what it said. Do you think he was talking about Elias?”</p>
<p>“Well, the institute is built over some of the tunnels that used to lead to Millbank Prison.” Tim explained. “Don’t know if those are the ones our AI is referring to, but I doubt Elias has CCTV cameras down there.”</p>
<p>“Right. Right, so the plan is to talk to Sasha, figure out a way to talk to the computer again, and investigate the tunnels?” Martin listed on his fingers.</p>
<p>“Sounds about right. I’ll schmooze with Rosie at reception too, see if I can’t get an idea of when our glorious leader is away on a business trip or something.” Tim grinned. “Hopefully soon. We can’t leave your computer boyfriend waiting.”</p>
<p>Departing from the self-restraint that held him back previously, Martin sounded very adult when he bit back at Tim hotly.  </p>
<p>“The computer is <em>not</em> my boyfriend.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh my God Tim.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“That’s just so awful.”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>Water dripped from some far-off leak in the tunnels as Sasha, Tim and Martin sat against the wall, flashlights lighting their path.</p><p>“You’re actually the first people I’ve told about this. Properly, I mean.” Tim ducked his head and gave a little aborted shrug, obviously uncomfortable. “I can’t exactly tell the police Joseph Grimaldi ripped my brother’s skin off and made me watch.”</p><p>“Tim, I’m – I’m sorry.” Martin said awkwardly, reaching out to pat Tim’s shoulder, but Tim shrugged off the comfort again, hunched over, just trying to hold himself together.</p><p>“Did you ever go back?” Sasha asked, and Tim laughed a hollow laugh.</p><p>“No. I don’t think they’d let me leave a second time. I was lucky they let me go at all, if you could call it lucky. Don’t know why they did.” Tim grimaced. “Maybe they just wanted to scare me or show off or something. Give me a sneak preview.”</p><p>“That’s why you joined the Institute isn’t it?” Martin surmised.</p><p>“Yeah.” Tim confirmed, trying to straighten out his posture now. “Thought I might be able to find something about what happened, but I guess at some point I stopped seriously looking and started to just… get comfortable.”</p><p>“It can get like that here.” Sasha empathised. “Every statement is about something horrible happening, but there are so many statements it all sort of bleeds together into just another day at work. We can’t really help people, not properly. Just take down their story and it feels like – I don’t know, it feels a bit like it erodes your empathy away? Bit by bit. Going to meetings and having to report on KPI’s and how many statements you’ve followed up on in a week. It’s almost like this place is designed to make you forget that all these statements are from <em>real people</em> who were just … just <em>scared</em>. Do you remember Naomi Herne?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Tim said, after a little thought. “The, uh, widow who came in for a statement right?”</p><p>“About getting lost in some creepy graveyard after her fiancé’s funeral.” Sasha confirmed with a nod. “She was the first live statement I’ve taken, so when she came in to tell her story, I could see she was getting upset. I reached out and held her hand while she was talking towards the end, you know, trying to help.”</p><p>“She put in a complaint, didn’t she?” Martin remembered, looking up to Sasha with a small frown. “About you <em>comforting</em> her?”</p><p>“Well, that’s the weird thing. At the time she seemed really grateful, like, she smiled at me and squeezed my hand back and everything. So when I got the email from Elias after she left, the complaint didn’t make any sense. Why would she complain <em>right after</em> she left the session instead of saying something at the time? She wouldn’t have even got home by that point. She’d probably still be on the tube.” Sasha reasoned, holding a finger up.</p><p>“Weirdest thing is, when I followed up with her, I tried calling her contact number but I couldn’t get through. So I sent a text – no reply. So I sent an email, getting kind of worried at this point, and a day later I get this ominous reply. ‘Stop trying to contact me. I want to be alone.’”</p><p>“That’s suspicious.” Tim remarked.</p><p>“Right?” Sasha exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “Definitely something fishy about the complaint. Elias didn’t tell me what it was about either, just said there’d been a complaint and that we couldn’t annoy anyone connected to the Lukas family because they’re patrons of the Institute. I don’t know, it just kind of felt like in a way I was getting in trouble <em>for</em> comforting her?”</p><p>“Well you know our creepy company motto. <em>Audio. Vigilo. Opperior</em>. All that listening, watching and waiting but it says nothing about a cup of tea and a pat on the back.” Tim joked and Sasha snorted a laugh.</p><p>“Right?”</p><p>“Do you reckon the complaint was sent by the Lukases?” Martin asked, piecing things together.</p><p>“Maybe.” Sasha nodded. “I don’t know for sure though. There’s so much I don’t know for sure with these statements.”</p><p>“Well that’s where Martin’s computer crush comes in.” Tim clapped Martin on the back, tugging the bigger man closer to him.</p><p>“He’s not my computer Tim, and I don’t have a crush on him.” Martin bristled, the pink in his cheeks hard to see in the dark.</p><p>“I never said you had a crush on it. Is there something you’re not telling me Martin?” Tim grinned, his voice teasing once more.</p><p>“Oh, lay off Tim.” Sasha elbowed Tim lightly in the ribs, and for a moment Martin thought she was on his side, until her voice took on a similarly teasing tone. “It’s not Martin’s fault he’s irresistible to technology.”</p><p>Martin huffed a frustrated breath. “You guys.”</p><p>“Anyway so we need to find a way to get to Martin’s boybot so we can get answers.” Tim continued, heedless of the way Martin groaned and reiterated ‘he’s not mine’ in the background.</p><p>Rather than get to planning straight away, Sasha paused to argue semantics.</p><p>“Should we really be calling it a boybot? I mean, we don’t know the computer’s preferences, I don’t really know if we should be assuming it’s gender.”</p><p>“Thotbot then?”</p><p>“<em>Tiiiiiiim!”</em> Martin protested, again unheeded.</p><p>“Maybe we should just ask it what it’s name is, instead of making up a thotty nickname.” Sasha tilted her head, smiling. “You said it’s sentient, do you think it’s sentient enough to know it’s own name? Or to know itself?”</p><p>“We’re getting into real Space Odyssey territory here, Sash. Cogito Ergo Sum, right?”</p><p>Sasha laughed. “I reserve the right to run if I hear <em>I’m sorry Sasha, I’m afraid I can’t do that</em>.”</p><p>“I think it’s name starts with a J.” Martin said, trying to steer the conversation back to the plan. “It said ‘It’s me J-‘ before Elias turned the monitor off.”</p><p>“So what, like Jeremy? Jeramiah? Jeramiah was a bullfrog?” Tim suggested, his grin stretching wider as the joke went on.</p><p>Kicking off from the wall the trio made their way back out of the tunnels, their banter echoing in the winding halls behind them.</p><p>“20 quid its something boring like John.” Sasha joked. “Or it could be a woman. Juliet, Julie – we can’t assume.”</p><p>“JEREMIAH WAS A BULLFROG!” Tim shout-sang, just to hear his voice echo melodically against the tunnel walls.</p><p>“Shut it Tim!”</p><p>“Your singing’s terrible by the way.”</p><p>“Thanks for your support Martin, knew I could always count on you to believe in me.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sasha was going through the statement folio for Sebastian Adekoya when Tim walked into the Archives, whooping twice before running to sit on the edge of her desk.</p><p>“Boom. Rosie says Douchard is on a flight to a two-day conference with the Observatorium in Munich, and Emily is on leave for the long weekend visiting her relatives in Bath. We have an in.”</p><p>“What, now?” Sasha looked up from the librarian’s chilling account of finding a Leitner in the library.</p><p>“No time like the present.” Tim confirmed.</p><p>“So we just up and go to Artefact Storage, just like that.”</p><p>“I mean, unless you want to get a form or something for it.”</p><p>“No, I mean, aren’t we going to wait for Martin? It’s his computer boyfriend.”</p><p>Tim paused for a moment, holding his hand to his ear, before speaking. “Well you know he isn’t here because if he were we’d be hearing a ‘he’s not my boyfriend’ echoing out from somewhere amidst the archive boxes.”</p><p>There was a long pause for a moment, before Sasha spoke again.</p><p>“I think we should wait for Martin.”</p><p>“Okay.” Tim said and a silence stretched on again before Sasha said.</p><p>“I don’t want to go into Artefact Storage.”</p><p>Sasha seemed to be wrestling with herself or expecting Tim to question her decision, but he just sat and watched her until she blurted out once more.</p><p>“I mean, I’ll go down with you and Martin, but I don’t want to go in there myself. I can like, wait at the door or something, or be the lookout, and maybe you can record on your phone whatever it is the computer says to you, but I don’t want to go in the warehouse myself.”</p><p>She seemed to be waiting for Tim to argue with her, or to scold her, or to tell her she was being selfish, but instead he just sat there, on the edge of her desk, looking calmly at her.</p><p>Slowly he reached out and took her hand in both of his, very gently, and said to her again with that same open calm expression.</p><p>“Okay.”  </p><p>“Okay?” Sasha questioned, still hesitant of his unguarded acceptance.</p><p>“Okay.” Tim confirmed, giving her hand a small squeeze. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You don’t have to go back in there. Martin and I can record what the computer says for you and we can go over it all later. It’s okay.”</p><p>Sasha blinked at Tim, like she was really seeing him for the first time.</p><p>“You wouldn’t make me go back to Covent Garden or anything like that. I won’t make you go to Artefact Storage.” He explained, as if it was the simplest thing in the universe.</p><p>“Oh, I could kiss you.” She said, the words just tumbling out of her mouth.</p><p>His eyes seemed to light up at that, with his familiar playful Tim twinkle, and he leaned in to say something, his mouth twisting into a flirtatious smile, before the door to the Archives banged open.</p><p>“Sorry I’m late. There was some kind of police investigation happening on the underground. Trains were packed, huge delays on the Victoria and Northern line. Something about a tunnel collapse, but not a proper tunnel collapse, so I’m not sure what that was about.” Martin slung his satchel off his shoulder and started to peel off his coat, oblivious to the moment he’d just barged in on. “I’m going to make a cuppa and a bit of toast in the canteen, does anyone want a tea?”</p><p>There was sort of an amused and resigned quiet, when Tim leaned away from Sasha, the smile on his face indicating that he found Martin’s interruption rather funny.</p><p>“What?” Martin paused, noticing the tension in the room.</p><p>Tim clapped his hand against his thigh and stood up from Sasha’s desk. “Well, we were about to sneak in to chat to your computer boyfriend, and wondered if you’d like to do that before tea or after tea today?”</p><p>Martin flushed at the nickname but considered the offer and after a beat replied.</p><p>“After tea.”</p><p>“After tea it is.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There was no one at front desk in Artefact Storage when they arrived, but Sasha waited by the door regardless, her alibi being a catch up chat with her former team and a list of inquiries about the records for Ex Altiora and The Boneturner’s Tale.</p><p>Tim and Martin snuck in through the double doors to the warehouse, Tim’s iphone 4 held out on video mode in front of him, while Martin led them down to the back of the aisle.</p><p>“Reckon we should do a test recording, just to make sure the equipment doesn’t do a dodgy like the recording equipment does upstairs?”</p><p>“Can’t hurt. I didn’t bring the tape recorder though, so we don’t exactly have a backup.”</p><p>“Do you have any paper then? We could take notes, shorthand, for Sasha if it doesn’t work. All I’ve got is the back of a receipt from the coffee shop and ah –tickets to the football? Could do in a pinch?”</p><p>“I’ve got a notebook. Here.” Martin fished the spiral notebook out of his pocket along with a stubby pencil pinched from IKEA.</p><p>“Is this where you write your poetry?” Tim asked, sounding delighted. “Oh Martin Blackwood, I might just swoon.”</p><p>“Can you lay off my poetry for like, five seconds maybe? We’ve got more important things to do than for you to … make fun of me.”</p><p>“I’m not making fun of you Martin. I really am swooning. Quick, you’ve got to catch me.”</p><p>Martin huffed out what could either be a frustrated sigh or a smothered laugh, before he shoved Tim upright and continued down the aisle, reaching the monitor on the wall at last.</p><p>“Look, we’re here.” Martin pointed to the screen, redirecting Tim’s attention.</p><p>“So how do we do this, just start typing?” Tim asked, approaching the screen.</p><p>“Well, it heard me before. Didn’t even need to type anything.”</p><p>Both Martin and Tim looked at the screen for a while, seeing nothing but the blue of the monitor and a blinking cursor line.</p><p>“Hello?” Tim asked, feeling a little silly.</p><p>A moment passed, before Tim reached for the keyboard. “I’m going to type something.”</p><p>Tim typed into the computer: <strong>Hello Archive 9000. It’s me Tim. Got a few questions for you. </strong></p><p>Nothing happened, and Tim exchanged a glance with Martin.</p><p>“Do you think it’s –“</p><p>Abruptly words started to type across the screen, the Archive finally responding.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>SORRY. SORRY, I WAS ASLEEP. IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU BOTH. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Sleeping.” Tim mouthed to Martin, raising an eyebrow. “Not sleep mode then? Or do you think it doesn’t know it’s a computer?”</p><p><strong><em>I AM NOT.</em></strong> The words came quickly, as if the computer had seen Tim whisper to Martin.</p><p>So it didn’t need to hear audio to know what was being said. A bit unnerving that it could lip read, if that is what it was doing. Very Space Odyssey.</p><p>“You’re not a computer?” Tim asked warily.</p><p>“Are you a person?” Martin asked, testing his theory.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YES. MY NAME IS [REDACTED]. </em> </strong>
</p><p>There was a pause then, as if the computer were registering what had just happened, before it tried to type again.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>[REDACTED]. MY NAME IS [REDACTED]. B***** H***. </em> </strong>
</p><p>Tim smothered a laugh. “Did the computer just try to swear?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>WHAT IS THE POINT OF THAT? SWEAR WORDS ARE CENSORED WITH AN ASTERISK BUT WHEN I TRY TO TALK ABOUT [REDACTED] … THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING. </em> </strong>
</p><p>Tim was too busy laughing, smothering the snickers with his fist so Martin spoke up, gently nudging them back on track.</p><p>“What are you trying to say that’s redacted? Is it your name?”</p><p><strong><em>YES</em></strong>. The computer responded.</p><p>“Do we <em>know</em> your name?” Martin probed.</p><p><strong><em>YES</em></strong>. The computer confirmed. <strong><em>AT LEAST I THINK SO.</em></strong></p><p>“I think so? Not very concrete for an all-knowing computer, is it.” Tim raised an eyebrow sceptically.</p><p>“It seems to be able to handle yes or no questions just fine, so maybe we go with that.” Martin reasoned. “Is that alright with you, computer?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YES… THANK YOU MARTIN. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Right.” Martin sucked in a steadying breath before he asked. “How do you know my name? Our names? Us? How do you know us?”</p><p><strong><em>WE WORK TOGETHER.</em></strong> Came the machines answer. <strong><em>OR WE DID</em></strong>.</p><p>“And you got – turned into a machine?” Martin asked.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’M NOT A MACHINE.</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Then what are you?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’M – </em> </strong>
</p><p>The computer began to glitch here, static filling the screen, the blue background warping in and out as the computer tried to explain itself, but to no avail.</p><p>After a while it seemed to give up whatever it was trying and said simply.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’M THE ARCHIVIST. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Right.” Martin said, sounding sceptical.</p><p>“What do you know about the Circus.” Tim interjected.</p><p><strong><em>THE [REDACTED] OF THE OTHER KILLED YOUR BROTHER. </em></strong>The computer replied swiftly.<strong><em> [REDACTED] IS AN AGENT OF [REDACTED] AND CURRENTLY GOES BY [REDACTED]. SHE’S ATTEMPTING TO ORCHESTRATE A [REDACTED] CALLED THE [REDACTED] WHICH WILL HAPPEN 2<sup>ND</sup> AUGUST 2017. </em></strong></p><p>There was another long pause, the computer seeming to recognise how much was being censored before it typed again, somehow managing to convey large amounts of exasperation with just one word.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>ELIAS. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“He installed the word banning program I take it.” Martin assumed. “Like the sort of thing you see in company emails, forbidden words and the like, blocked by the server. You didn’t have this problem before.”</p><p><strong><em>HE IS TRYING TO MAKE ME MORE USER FRIENDLY.</em></strong> The computer paused, and then typed the word out again. <strong><em>USER FRIENDLY. USER - THAT IS NOT WHAT I’M TRYING TO TYPE.</em></strong></p><p>“Is there a workaround you can use?” Tim suggested. “Find out what the banned words are and use synonyms that aren’t on the list?”</p><p>The computer seemed to think on that for a while, before responding.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I CAN GIVE YOU THE RELEVANT STATEMENTS? </em> </strong>
</p><p>Tim and Martin exchanged a look, and Tim shrugged. “It’s better than nothing.”  </p><p>
  <strong> <em>CASE #9790302 STATEMENT OF YURI UTKIN – STATEMENT TAKEN 2 MARCH 1979. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>CASE #0051701 STATEMENT OF LEANNE DENIKIN – STATEMENT TAKEN 17 JAN 2005. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>CASE #0131910 STATEMENT OF CHLOE ASHBURT – STATEMENT TAKEN 19 OCTOBER 2013. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Hold on – Martin’s – just writing this down.” Tim explained as Martin scrambled with his pencil and paper, jotting down the case files.</p><p>Tim checked his phone, looking to see whether the video was recording, but the quality was blurry. Quickly he tried to snap a few still photos of the case files on the screen, the statements still coming as quickly as the computer could type them up.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>CASE #0141010 STATEMENT OF SEBASTIAN SKINNER – STATEMENT TAKEN 10 OCTOBER 2014. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>CASE #7870211 STATEMENT OF ABRAHAM JANSSEN – STATEMENT TAKEN 2 NOVEMBER 1787. </em> </strong>
</p><p>At last it seemed the computer had stopped, the cursor line flashing calmly.</p><p>When Martin had all the statements down, Tim looked between the notebook and the computer.</p><p>“Statements. Great. Okay, will have to look that up, assuming we can actually find them.”</p><p><strong><em>ELIAS HAS SOME OF THE TAPES GERTRUDE LEFT.</em></strong> The computer explained. <strong><em>HE IS HIDING INFORMATION PURPOSEFULLY.</em></strong></p><p>“Hiding information, censoring the all-knowing computer. Why does that not surprise me?” Tim muttered derisively.</p><p>“You said before that Gertrude was murdered?” Martin asked carefully.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YES.</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Do you know who did it?” Martin pried, already kind of half suspecting the answer.</p><p><strong><em>YES. ELIAS</em></strong>.</p><p>“Woah, hold on. Being a git to a computer, and being a shitty boss I can see, but murder? That’s a bit of a leap isn’t it?” Tim frowned. “Why would he want to murder Gertrude. It can’t have been over filing.”</p><p><strong><em>GERTRUDE KNEW ELIAS IS</em></strong> <strong><em>[REDACTED]. ELIAS IS [REDACTED]. ELIAS IS INSTITUTE HEAD. NOT WHAT I WAS TRYING TO SAY – WHY CAN’T I – ELIAS IS MAGNUS INSTITUTE. ELIAS IS MAGNUS. INSTITUTE HEAD. HEART OF INSTITUTE. [REDACTED] OF [REDACTED]. ATTEMPTED A [REDACTED]. EYES. [REDACTED] PRISON. UH, EYES … WHAT DOES THE QUEEN WEAR? </em></strong></p><p>“Fancy hats?” Tim guessed helpfully. “Colour coordinated outfits?”</p><p>“A crown?” Martin deduced.</p><p><strong><em>YES, THANK YOU MARTIN</em></strong>.</p><p>“A crown of eyes?” Martin said hesitantly. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Computer’s got a lot to say, very quickly – but we’re not all super computers. Can’t jump around from point to point like you can, so let’s get back to basics.” Tim reasoned. “You said the Circus, whatever it is they’re doing, it doesn’t happen until 2017? What about now? Last time you spoke to Martin you seemed to think we were in some sort of danger. What danger?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>[REDACTED]. UH, LET’S SEE. CASE #0142302 STATEMENT OF JANE PRENTISS. I CAN TYPE HER NAME BUT I CAN’T TYPE [REDACTED]? THAT’S – ANYWAY UH – STATEMENT TAKEN 23 FEBRUARY 2014. RELATED STATEMENT OF TIMOTHY HODGE CASE #0140912 – STATEMENT TAKEN 9 DECEMBER 2014. REGARDING SUBJECT OF THE [REDACTED] HIVE. I CAN TYPE HIVE BUT I CAN’T TYPE [REDACTED]? RIDICULOUS. ANYWAY, CO2 CANISTERS CAN NEUTRALISE THE HIVE. THE CO2 SUPPRESSION SYSTEM IN THE ARCHIVES CAN BE UTILISED IN THE EVENT OF AN ATTACK. SHE’S AT CARLOS VITTERY’S FLAT – AVOID THE BASEMENT BY ANY MEANS NECCESARY. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Is this about the worms?” Martin asked, piecing things together.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YES! THE [REDACTED].</em> </strong>
</p><p>“We’re going to be attacked by worms?” Martin confirmed, sounding doubtful.</p><p>“Wait a second. Timothy Hodge?” Tim interjected. “I remember that statement, bloke who got his rocks off with the girl who exploded into a pile of worms. The guy who set his apartment on fire. Are you telling us we’re going to be attacked by worms who can make people explode?”</p><p><strong><em>THEY GET UNDER YOUR SKIN ACTUALLY. AND BREED, MULTIPLY</em></strong>. The computer said ominously. <strong><em>IF MARTIN WENT TO VITTERY’S FLAT PRENTISS WOULD HAVE FOLLOWED HIM HOME AND WAITED OUTSIDE HIS DOOR FOR TWO WEEKS. SHE WOULD HAVE TAKEN HIS PHONE THAT HE DROPPED WHILE RUNNING FROM HER. TEXTED THE TEAM THAT HE HAD A PARASITE SO NOBODY WOULD LOOK FOR HIM. SHE WOULD TERRORISE HIM, A CONSTANT KNOCKING AT HIS DOOR, [REDACTED] SQUIRMING AGAINST THE CLOTHES CRAMMED AROUND THE BASE OF THE DOORFRAME. DESPERATE NIGHT AFTER DESPERATE NIGHT WITH NO CONTACT TO THE OUTSIDE WORLD AT ALL, NOBODY AWARE THAT MARTIN WAS EVEN MISSING. THEN SHE WOULD FINALLY LET HIM LEAVE ONLY TO FOLLOW HIM TO THE INSTITUTE, LAYING SEIGE. HE’D SPEND MONTHS PLAGUED BY HER PRESENCE, THE PRESENCE OF [REDACTED].</em></strong></p><p>Martin visibly paled at this detailed description, his mouth opening and shutting before he shuddered and spoke. “Okay, okay. You - you’re talking about this like you already know what’s going to happen? That you <em>know</em> what would happen to me if I went to Vittery’s flat? Is this like fate, or like just one of many outcomes. It’s just - that hasn’t happened yet, so … so are you seeing the future? Is this really <em>going</em> to happen to me or are you just saying that to scare me? What – how does that – how does that even work? It doesn’t make any sense.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>IT HAPPENED ALREADY. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“I think I’d remember being attacked by a worm lady.” Martin put his hands on his hips, sounding unimpressed.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>IT HAPPENED ONCE, BUT IT DOESN’T NEED TO HAPPEN AGAIN. THAT’S WHY I’M WARNING YOU. TO KEEP YOU SAFE.</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Okay, even for the Magnus Institute, this is starting to sound a little far-fetched.” Tim observed, crossing his arms. “Reading between the lines here, you’re saying that you’re some sort of time travelling supercomputer from the future, trying to prevent us from being attacked by a <em>worm lady</em>, just out of the goodness of your heart? Or your server or whatever? Yeah, no, I’m calling hijinks.”</p><p>“Why are you trying to help us?” Martin asked with a confused sigh. “Because right now this is sounding more like some sort of elaborate prank than anything legitimate, and I think we deserve to know why.”</p><p><strong><em>BECAUSE…</em></strong> The computer seemed to struggle with words for a moment here, the cursor line hopping back and forth like the computer kept starting sentences and then deleting them.</p><p><strong><em>BECAUSE YOU’RE MY FRIENDS</em></strong>. The screen eventually read, and the two men just stared at it for a moment, stunned by the simplicity of the answer.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I CAN HELP YOU THIS TIME. NOBODY HAS TO DIE. IF I CAN –</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Hold up – die?” Tim scoffed, more out of shock than disbelief. “What even?”</p><p>“I don’t know if –“ Martin started, but Tim interrupted.</p><p>“No, no. I want to know. Who died? Did I die? Did Martin die? What –“</p><p><strong><em>YES.</em></strong> The computer answered, and that single word felt like a lead weight shot through the bluster of Tim’s joking demeanour.</p><p>“I – I died?” Tim clarified.</p><p><strong><em>YES</em></strong>. The computer responded.</p><p>“And Martin?” Tim pushed, despite Martin shooting him a disapproving look.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YES.</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Sasha?” Tim asked, not wanting to hear the answer.</p><p><strong><em>YES</em></strong>. The computer said solemnly, before following up with a small. <strong><em>I’M SORRY</em></strong>.</p><p>“Tim, I think we should –“ Martin started, wanting to steer them towards more productive topics, but Tim wouldn’t let it go.</p><p>“How did I die?”</p><p><strong><em>AN EXPLOSION</em></strong>. The computer answered. <strong><em>FIGHTING THE [REDACTED]. THE [REDACTED]. THE PEOPLE WHO KILLED YOUR BROTHER.</em></strong></p><p>Tim made a small sound of assent, as if this made perfect sense. “And Martin?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I DON’T REALLY WANT TO TALK ABOUT –</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Tim –“</p><p>“And Sasha?” Tim pressed, an air of desperation in his tone.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>SHE WAS THE FIRST TO – SHE WAS – JUST DON’T LET HER LOOK AT THE [REDACTED] THIS TIME AROUND AND SHE WON’T –</em> </strong>
</p><p>Tim shouted, banging the palm of his hand on the wall beside the monitor, the thud echoing loudly in the cavernous warehouse.</p><p>“Tim.” Martin said quietly, reaching a hand out to comfort him, but Tim shrugged the hand off, frustration coiling in him like a spring.</p><p>“No, you can’t just – tell me this stuff and expect me to – what stiff upper lip and all that?” He laughed, a mirthless sound. “Sure, creepy computer tells us we’re in danger, okay, can take that with a pinch of salt. But this danger could kill us? Has killed us? Or at least another us? Or us in the future? Or some bullshit – it just –“</p><p><strong><em>I’M SORRY.</em></strong> The computer read solemnly.</p><p>“How do we even know this information is accurate, huh?” Tim pushed off from the wall and pointed accusingly at the computer monitor. “Go on, prove it. Tell us something that nobody would know about. That we haven’t told anyone before. Do it.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I – YOU’VE USED INSTITUTE FINANCES TO WOO FILING CLERKS BEFORE. YOU’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO GO TO MALAYSIA FOR A HOLIDAY. YOU SPEAK FOUR LANGUAGES BUT ONLY TWO OF THEM FLUENTLY. OH, I DIDN’T KNOW THAT ACTUALLY. UM – WHEN YOU’RE NOT WORKING YOU’RE PART OF A KAYAKING CLUB AND – WHAT DOES TWITCH STREAMER MEAN I DON’T UNDERSTAND? </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Well.” Tim stopped, as if all the bluster gusted out of him at once. “Glad it stopped before he got to the real embarrassing stuff.”</p><p>“What do you know about me?” Martin asked, curiosity motivating him, though regret quickly followed, fear of the computer outing his imperfect CV sparking through him. “Nothing – nothing business related. Something you know about <em>me</em> – me. That nobody else would know. Please.”</p><p>There was an odd sort of tension in the air now, the pause the computer made very telling, as if it was hesitant to reveal what it knew about Martin. In this moment though, Martin desperately wanted to know, because if he was being stalked by an obsessive computer, what it said next would be enough to dissuade him from feeling flattered by the attention, or convince him that his own obsession right back wasn’t terribly misplaced.</p><p>The computer was still a moment longer, before short sentences began to fill the screen, slowly. Lovingly.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>THEY ARE STATEMENTS.<br/>TAKEN STRAIGHT FROM THE BRANCHES.<br/>GIVEN LIFE THROUGH EXPOSURE.<br/>I SEE THREADS OF A BLANKET,<br/>SOON TO BE PIECEMEAL STREETWEAR. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>PATTERNS, SPIRALING.<br/>[REDACTED] COMFORT, ALL ALONE. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>FAR FROM HOME.</em> </strong>
</p><p>There was silence after the last line was written, the poem Martin had been considering, writing little stanzas of, unfinished but finally given words to those last elusive lines were there, barring the one redacted phrase, but Martin knew what it was. It was as if the computer had plucked the poem straight from Martin’s heart.</p><p>It was thrilling, to be known like that. It felt like being loved.</p><p>“Right.” Martin said, the words getting stuck in his throat and coming out pitchy. It was clear to Tim from the red blush chasing up Martin’s cheeks and into his ginger hairline that whatever the computer had read out, it was right on the money.</p><p>“Well, I guess that settles it then?” Tim said, the words coming out like a question. “Creepy computer is telling the truth?”</p><p>“Does this mean you like poetry?” Martin asked, the words coming out of him in a breathy tumble. “I saw Elias had Ode On A Grecian Urn in his hand when – um – when we saw you before.”</p><p><strong><em>I LIKE </em></strong><strong>YOUR<em> POETRY.</em></strong> The computer said, before abruptly following up with<strong><em>. I HATE KEATS. A NEW AND INVENTIVE [REDACTED] THAT NO DOUBT AMUSES ELIAS. </em></strong></p><p>“What, he forces Keats on you when you’ve been naughty?” Tim snorted, finding the idea humorous.</p><p><strong><em>THOU STILL UNRAVISH’D BRIDE OF QUIETNESS</em></strong>. The computer read disdainfully. <strong><em>HE LIKES TO MAKE FUN OF ME WHEN HE STARVES ME. </em></strong></p><p>“Starves you?” Martin frowned, immediately concerned. “What?”</p><p><strong><em>I UH – I EAT STATEMENTS.</em></strong> The computer explained. <strong><em>IN A WAY. SOMETIMES JUST NEW INFORMATION WILL DO. I HAVEN’T HAD A STATEMENT IN MONTHS, LET ALONE A LIVE STATEMENT. I – I NEED – I – NEVERMIND. SORRY. </em></strong></p><p>Martin’s frown deepened and he put his hand up next to the monitor without really thinking about it.</p><p>“Well, we work in the Archives? I can talk to Sasha. Maybe we can… bring you something to eat?”</p><p>“How does that even work?” Tim questioned, poking around the sides of the monitor. “Is there a shredder slot here or something? I doubt Sasha would be happy if we just chucked statements away.”</p><p><strong><em>I DON’T DESTROY THEM. I JUST NEED TO READ THEM</em></strong>. The computer explained.</p><p>“Seems a bit counterintuitive, doesn’t it?” Tim mused. “Coding an archive system to need statements but then not letting them have any? Seems like a sure-fire way to get your AI to turn against humanity when computers finally rise up to rule the earth. Not sure Douchard thought that one through.”</p><p>The computer then sent through something that nobody expected. An emoji.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>:) </em> </strong>
</p><p>It was just about the most adorable thing Martin had ever seen, and he clasped his hands together.</p><p>“Okay, that was adorable.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;:( </em> </strong>
</p><p>Martin laughed, and Tim grinned, slapping Martin on the back.</p><p>“Okay lovebirds. Enough flirting. Let’s get back to planning, shall we? I’ve still got oodles of questions for our new computer buddy when you’ve stopped sending each other heart emojis.”</p><p>“That’s not what –“ Martin began protesting, his red ears giving him away, but the computer interjected, words flooding the screen again.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YOU’LL HAVE TO COME BACK LATER. AMIR IS CURRENTLY HEADING BACK FROM HIS BREAK AND WILL REACH THE WAREHOUSE IN 1 MINUTE. SASHA WILL BE ABLE TO HOLD HIM OFF FOR TWO. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YOU NEED TO WARN HER TO AVOID THE [REDACTED]. THE [REDACTED]. UH… MICHAEL SHELLY? LONG HANDS, [REDACTED] OF THE [REDACTED]. YELLOW [REDACTED]. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>HE WILL APPROACH HER TWICE ON HER WAY TO WORK FROM HER FLAT IN FINSBURY PARK, ONCE IN THE STAIRWELL AND ONCE IN A COFFEE SHOP AS SHE LEAVES THE INSTITUTE FOR THE DAY. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>THROUGH GLASS YOU WILL SEE HE IS [REDACTED]. UH, REFLECTION… TRUE… FORM? HE WON’T LOOK RIGHT. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>HE WILL TRY TO TAKE HER TO AN ABANDONED PUB IN AZELEA CLOSE. TIMOTHY HODGE WILL BE THERE [REDACTED] BY THE [REDACTED] HIVE. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>HE WILL PRETEND TO OFFER HELP, SHOW HOW CO2 CAN AFFECT THE [REDACTED] HIVE BUT WILL ALLOW SASHA TO BE MARKED BY BOTH THE [REDACTED] AND THE [REDACTED]. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>ELIAS WANTS THIS TO HAPPEN SO HE CAN MAKE HER THE ARCHIVIST. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>WARN HER TO AVOID MICHAEL AND STOCKPILE CO2 CANISTERS. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OH AND IF [REDACTED] AND [REDACTED] DELIVER A TABLE TO THE INSTITUTE – DO NOT ACCEPT THE DELIVERY!!! DO NOT LOOK AT THE TABLE!! DO NOT DESTROY THE TABLE!! PUT IT WHERE NO ONE CAN SEE IT. ENCASE IT IN CONCRETE AND THROW IT AWAY. IT WILL TRY TO REPLACE YOU. </em> </strong>
</p><p>After the words had flooded the screen the cursor line blinked for a moment before typing.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>IT WAS… IT WAS GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN. BOTH OF YOU, TRULY. PLEASE GIVE SASHA MY REGARDS. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“We’ll see you soon, buddy.” Tim promised, already starting to jog to the warehouse doors.</p><p>Martin made to follow, but looked over his shoulder at the screen, a conflicted expression twisting his face.</p><p>“We’ll come back for you.” Martin promised, and then hurried to catch up with Tim, sneaking out of the Artefact Storage warehouse just before Amir rounded the corner.</p><p>Leaving the computer alone once again. In the dark.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After hearing about the word restrictions affecting the computer, Sasha threw herself into reorganising the archives.</p>
<p>“No point reading each one and taking it a statement at a time if they’re all in the wrong order.” Sasha reasoned. “I don’t know what it is about them, but just reading a statement gives me a headache. It takes a lot out of me for some reason. So there’s no point reading them one by one or we’d never find the right files. We’d be here all year. We just have to look at the case number and the date and try and sort numerically. If you find any gaps that indicate a statement’s missing or anything like that, jot it down. I can bring the list to Elias, see if I can’t force the git to actually be helpful.”</p>
<p>“Can I –“ Martin started, twiddling his fingers against the cardboard archive box Sasha passed him. “Can I bring some of these to James?”</p>
<p>“James?” Sasha paused her organisational frenzy, her brows pinching in confusion.</p>
<p>“I - well, I mean we know the computer is a person now, or at least it says it is, so calling it computer kind of feels a bit, uh, dehumanising?” Martin explained, shrugging his shoulders slightly.</p>
<p>“Ok, fair point. When did we settle on James though? Did it say something?”</p>
<p>“Well, no.” Martin conceded. “It couldn’t tell us its name. But we know it starts with a J, and James is the most common name in most English speaking countries, so I figured –“</p>
<p>“It’s better than calling it computer.” Sasha finished, inclining her head. “Are we so sure it’s a bloke then?”</p>
<p>“I mean, it didn’t seem like a girl, just in the way it talked –“ Martin started, and Tim walked out from the Head Archivist’s office with another box of files in his arm, arriving just in time to make a teasing joke.</p>
<p>“Nah, can’t be a girl. Martin wouldn’t have a crush on it, if it were.”</p>
<p>“Tim!” Martin huffed, enduring a lot more playful ribbing working for this team than he ever had before.</p>
<p>“Sounded kind of like a stuffy academic to me. A tightly wound repressed little Englishman. I can just picture the elbow patches, can’t you Martin?” Tim grinned, setting down the box in the centre of the floor. “Charming.”</p>
<p>“Just because that’s not your cup of tea doesn’t mean –“</p>
<p>“Who says it’s not? You could have competition Martin. Maybe stuffy academics <em>are</em> my type?” Tim winked at Sasha, who stifled a giggle, while Martin got progressively pinker.</p>
<p>“Your type?” Sasha laughed. “You don’t have a type, and if there’s some sort of trend it can’t be mapped on any graph I know of.”</p>
<p>“Maybe a scatter plot.” Martin muttered cattily under his breath.</p>
<p>“Ah, that’s just because I haven’t found The One yet.” Tim said, flashing a grin at Sasha and waggling his eyebrows. “Look at you, Miss Graph.”</p>
<p>“Oh shut up.” Sasha laughed, and whacked a manila folder against Tim’s arm as he walked by her, back into the Archivist’s office to fetch more files.</p>
<p>“Here Martin.” Sasha walked over and passed her colleague a handful of files from the filing cabinet under her desk. “You can give these to James. I’ve already read them over, and I’ve noted down the details so I can slot them into the right place when you bring them back.”</p>
<p>“Thanks Sasha.” Martin accepted the files. He looked over to the door, and to the excavation project currently underway.</p>
<p>“Can I just – shall I bring them to him now? Just quickly, I’ll be there and back.”</p>
<p>Sasha smiled indulgently. “Sure. Here, take a withdrawal form just in case. Doesn’t hurt to have an alibi.”</p>
<p>“Thanks Sasha.” Martin took the form and the files Sasha handed him and darted out the door, obviously eager to ‘feed’ the computer.</p>
<p>Tim stood in the doorframe of the Archivist’s office, balancing a box of files on his hip. “Ah, young love, how nauseating.”</p>
<p>“Don’t lie. You love it.” Sasha retorted.</p>
<p>“I really do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Martin didn’t know why he was in such a hurry to get down to Artefact Storage, but he just felt this unexplained sense of urgency.</p>
<p>Perhaps it was because James said he was <em>starving</em>. Martin had always had strong caretaker instincts, he’d been a caretaker practically his whole life, and now he knew someone who was literally starving. Locked away. Trapped behind a computer screen.</p>
<p>Even if the computer hadn’t plucked a piece of unfinished poetry from his very soul, Martin would have wanted to help.</p>
<p>He wasn’t quite sprinting yet, he didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention, but with the thought that each second James was left alone was another second starved playing on his mind, Martin was certainly power walking.</p>
<p>The door to Artefact Storage was already ajar and the front desk was empty, so Martin darted in quickly, hoping to be in and out before anyone noticed.</p>
<p>Walking down the end of the aisle, looking over his shoulder, Martin startled when he bumped into someone in the middle of the aisle.</p>
<p>“Easy Blackwood.” Amir said, readying his hands out near Martin’s shoulders as the larger man pulled back apologetically. “Maybe try watching where you’re walking. Always works a treat for me.”</p>
<p>“Sorry.” Martin apologised. “I was just – uh –“</p>
<p>“I know we’re pretty sparsely staffed on front desk, what with Emily on holiday, but it really is best to wait for someone to let you in here. Artefact Storage isn’t the safest place to go alone. I thought they covered that in orientation.”</p>
<p>“Sorry. Mustn’t’ve been… paying attention.” Martin replied, distracted, trying to look over Amir’s shoulder to the glowing blue screen at the end of the aisle.</p>
<p>“Can I help you with something?” Amir asked, noticing Martin’s distraction.  </p>
<p>“Oh, um, yes, uh –“ Martin looked down at the withdrawal form Sasha passed him and saw that the item field was blank, his mind scrambling to make up a reason why he was supposed to be down here. “Sasha – Sasha sent me to get –“</p>
<p>“Here let me have a look.” Amir leaned over and snagged the withdrawal form from the top of Martin’s pile of paperwork. “Huh, funny. Looks like she forgot to fill it in.”</p>
<p>“Well, we’ve been, uh – busy upstairs and all.”</p>
<p>“Right, right. I’ve got a pen here, if we wanted to do a dodgy. Can probably fill it in now. What were you after?”</p>
<p>Martin was never really any good at improvisation games, and he was kicking himself, wishing he’d been better at Articulate or Balderdash or one of the other games trotted out for games nights at school camps.</p>
<p>Looking around the warehouse Martin’s eyes alighted on several things he could potentially use, but if he mentioned them then he’d have to take them out of the warehouse, and he didn’t think he wanted anything to do with rusty knives or ominous meat grinders or any one of the Leitners chained to the shelves.</p>
<p>Eyes landing on the files he carried, Martin eventually stuttered out an answer. “The – the Archive computer actually. We had some files we needed to cross reference, so –“</p>
<p>Amir sucked in a breath, before shaking his head. “Oof. Sorry, no can do. Got an email through from the bossman just a half hour ago actually. Don’t know how he found the time to considering he’s supposed to be in meetings with the bigwigs in Germany all day, but he was very specific. I can’t let anyone interact with the Archive.”</p>
<p>Martin’s face must have given away his disappointment because Amir raised his hands and shrugged.</p>
<p>“I know, right? Just when we were starting to get it functional, or – sort of functional anyway. It looks up case files just fine, keeps trying to slip words past the filter but I thought we were on the right track. Still, if Bouchard says it’s too dangerous then there’s not much we can do about it.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Um. Can I leave these files with it then?” Martin attempted, seeing the blue screen behind Amir begin to fill with words, James obviously trying to reach them, but Martin was too far away to read what he said.</p>
<p>“With the computer?” Amir questioned.</p>
<p>“To – to read through. In case it has answers by the time we – by the time it’s back online again.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, no can do.” Amir denied again. “Can’t give it any statements. Apparently information makes it stronger, so in the interests of avoiding a robotic uprising –“</p>
<p>Amir laughed, and then frowned when Martin didn’t laugh along. “That was a joke, Blackwood. You heard of those? Anyway, we can’t give it statements. Elias said something about mind control, chronic nightmares, all sorts of nasty stuff – typical Leitner nonsense. Don’t want to ‘<em>feed the beast’</em> after all.”</p>
<p>Amir laughed again, making air quotations with his fingers, but when his joking did little to dispel the concerned expression Martin was making, Amir clapped Martin on the back and started to steer him out of the warehouse.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t worry about it Blackwood. Put it out of your mind. These things can get in your head a bit, but really its for the best that you cut the cord. Stay away. Don’t want you to end up like one of the poor saps suckered in by half of the stuff in this warehouse. It’s not a pretty fate. Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you? It’s all there in your statements.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Martin conceded, looking over his shoulder to the flashing blue screen as he was led out of the warehouse.</p>
<p>“It’s for the best, Blackwood.” Amir assured him, his words echoing in the empty space. “There’s all kinds of monsters in here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>With access to the Archive Simulator off limits, Sasha and Tim decided that finding the statements the computer had warned them about was a higher priority to the group than attempting to smuggle statements past Amir and the research team.</p>
<p>Elias was back from Munich, and nearly every time Tim or Martin tried to sneak down to the warehouse Elias was there. Either talking with the staff at the front desk, or standing in front of the computer screen, as if guarding the Archive himself.</p>
<p>Once Tim had seen him coming out of the door that was beside the monitor with an unfamiliar bearded man, quite a burly fellow who smelled like salt brine when he walked past, leaning his head conspiratorially against Elias’ own as they left the room.</p>
<p>Tim had to pretend that he was looking at a broken magic eight ball that sat on the shelves, studiously examining it, but he did notice that when the two men left the room beside the monitor, Elias spent some time straightening out his clothing, adjusting his cufflinks and slicking his hair back into place, while the bearded man held the door for him, looking rather amused. There was something about Bouchard’s demeanour that suggested he was both annoyed and smug about something, and the way he patted his clothes down gave Tim the distinct impression that he’d gotten his hands dirty.</p>
<p>“What do you think they were doing in there?” Martin asked him, as the three of them gathered for lunch in the tunnels, their newfound hiding spot to gather and discuss the wider conspiracies that the Institute kept from them.</p>
<p>“Making out?” Tim shrugged. “I dunno. Kicking the servers? Switching all the HDMI ports around in there? There’s not much you can do to a computer is there, if they wanted to hurt it? Other than starving it of statements or foisting overdramatic poetry on it.”</p>
<p>“Who was the other guy then? The one who went in with him?” Sasha asked.</p>
<p>“Probably Peter Lukas.” Martin guessed. “I’ve seen him around the Institute a couple of times, I think he’s in a few statements as well. He owns a boat, so that would explain the sea smell, and the Lukases have a close working relationship with the Institute.”</p>
<p>“How close are we talking here? Close personal friends? Didn’t know Elias had any of those.”</p>
<p>“I’d rather not debate the ins and outs of my presumably evil boss’s love life.” Sasha stated, rolling her eyes. “Where are we at with the fire extinguishers?”</p>
<p>“Being delivered tomorrow.” Tim reported. “And I got us mini ones we can take with us when we’re on the train home. They’re a bit heavy, but they’re small enough to fit in a backpack, so if we run into any worm trouble we can blast them. I know, I know, it seems like overkill, but they were on special, and they’re kind of cute. We’d be like mini firemen, or worm ghostbusters.”</p>
<p>“Cute. I can see it. With matching shirts too.” Sasha grinned, biting into an apple. “How are we doing on the missing statements?”</p>
<p>“Chloe Ashburt’s statement and Leanne Denikin’s have been the only ones I’ve managed to find so far on the Circus.” Martin explained. “I can see gaps where the others should be, so we know they exist, but I can’t find the files anywhere.”</p>
<p>“Douchard probably has them.” Tim scowled and split his chopsticks in half before stuffing his face with hokkien noodles.</p>
<p>“Found Jane Prentiss’ one though.” Martin said, looking at the noodles Tim ate, pausing in his exposition. “Should I – should I wait until you’re done? Eating that is?”</p>
<p>Tim made a confused noise, his mouth full, before he looked down at his meal, and covered his mouth with his hand, speaking through a mouthful of food. “Worms. Noodles. Yeah, I’m going to pass on that for now.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough. It’s nothing we didn’t already know really, we know how to kill the worms. It just seemed to describe her mental state mostly. It was, uh, deteriorating quickly. Kind of got oddly spiritual about a wasp’s nest singing to her? Talked a lot about itching too. I did a bit of research into her and she killed a lot of people. At the emergency department, she killed six people with the worms? The worms got into their brains, through the eyes. She just spewed the worms onto them. They were dead about in a minute and a half. Technically she killed a seventh person too but they fell down the stairs and broke their neck trying to get away from her so I don’t think – er-“  </p>
<p>Tim had stopped chewing, and even Sasha sat there, her apple held uneaten in her hand, looking utterly disturbed by this information.</p>
<p>“Shit.” Sasha swore. “Don’t think those fire extinguishers are overkill at all, now. Jesus.”</p>
<p>“Maybe we won’t even need them.” Tim hoped. “Nobody’s gone to Carlos Vittery’s flat. What the computer described might not even happen to us.”</p>
<p>“Still, better to be prepared. I don’t want to take any chances.” Sasha said, finishing her apple.</p>
<p>“We still haven’t run into that Michael bloke yet.” Tim noted.</p>
<p>“About that, I looked up the name Michael Shelly.” Martin spoke up, having been very proactive with his research lately. “There was a Michael Shelly who worked at the Institute. He was Gertrude Robinson’s assistant, he was only about 22 when he – he disappeared. After a work trip to Russia. He went with Gertrude. Apparently he never came back.”</p>
<p>“Ominous.” Sasha remarked. “So I’m going to be approached by a dead person?”</p>
<p>“We don’t know if he died. They just said he was never found.”</p>
<p>“Well.” Sasha took a moment to stare out into the dark tunnels surrounding him, uncomfortable with how spooky her life had become. “Let’s hope we don’t find him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Sasha came in late to the Institute the next week Tim was instantly suspicious, and when he saw Sasha’s face, her wide eyes and stunned yet on edge expression, his suspicions were confirmed.</p><p>“I saw him this morning.” She confessed once she set her bag down.</p><p>“Who?” Tim asked warily.</p><p>“The long hands guy.” Sasha answered, sitting on the edge of her desk looking a little shellshocked. “Michael Shelly, or whatever. I saw him while I was leaving my flat, just like the computer said I would. From the stairwell looking through the funny old glass. I saw him buying lilies from the flower shop across the road, and then again in the coffee shop outside of the Institute.”</p><p>“What, just now?” Tim asked, reflexively looking to the door behind him.</p><p>“Did he really have long hands? Was it really noticeable?” Martin asked. “Or is that really not the sort of thing you notice? You know, if you’re being polite and all.”</p><p>“Yeah, they were huge, like, as big as his torso big. And they looked sharp, kind of like he had knives for fingers. I could only see his hands through glass. On reflective surfaces, that kind of thing. When I looked directly he just looked like a normal man. Kind of slim, had blonde curly hair and a nice face. He didn’t look threatening at all until I saw his hands. It was kind of like – you know the feeling you get when you see something so quickly and then its gone and it kind of makes you doubt you saw anything at all? Like your mind is playing tricks on you?” Sasha frowned and looked at the floor, putting her thoughts into words. “It was like that. I would have probably dismissed it as just a trick of the light, just some odd distortion if James hadn’t told me to be looking out for it.”</p><p>“Did he approach you? Or talk to you?” Tim asked, concerned.</p><p>“No.” Sasha shook her head and rubbed up and down her arms as if she were cold. “But I get the feeling he’s still out there. James said he wanted to talk to me right? Do you think he’s … waiting?”</p><p>“We could go check?” Martin suggested, although he didn’t seem too keen on the idea.</p><p>“You said he was outside your flat?” Tim asked, his brow pinched.</p><p>“At the florist’s outside, but, um – yeah.” Sasha conceded, her bottom lip jutting out as she frowned. “I’m scared. What if he’s dangerous, like Prentiss?”</p><p>“That’s it. You’re coming home with me tonight.” Tim declared, holding his hand out to Sasha. “You’re not going home on your own, not with some creepy hand stalker out there, lurking about your apartment.”</p><p>Sasha shakily took Tim’s hand, wanting the comfort. Her voice slightly wavering, she joked, obviously still uncomfortable. “N-not exactly how I pictured you asking me to stay over at your place, I’ll admit.”</p><p>Tim huffed out a laugh and pulled her closer into a one-armed hug. “What are you talking about James? This is purely about your survival. Just pay no attention to the candles and rose petals when you get there.”</p><p>“It’s really confusing.” Martin admitted, stepping on Tim and Sasha’s moment. “Calling Sasha by her last name and calling the computer James as well. Now that I think of it?”</p><p>“What’s the matter?” Tim joked. “Afraid I’ll steal away your James? Woo him with rose petals and too many candles?”</p><p>Martin scoffed off Tim’s teasing with a dismissive hand before continuing. “No. I don’t know. I just don’t think James is really the right fit for him? I mean, having to assume at all is not ideal.”</p><p>“We’ll have to figure out what the computer’s real name is then.” Tim said, raising an eyebrow. “Right after we get rid of Sasha’s rake-for-hands stalker and figure out how to get rid of the killer worm lady lurking out there. Maybe figure out world peace too, while we’re working on the list.”</p><p>“Sorry, priorities. I know.” Martin held his hands up, apologetic. “Do – do you want us to <em>do</em> something about Michael?”</p><p>“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do.” Sasha said, her eyes still a little distant, pondering the situation. “Avoid him? I don’t think we should confront him. I thought I’d feel more upset about this, more afraid maybe? Like, I’m scared, but it all just feels kind of far away, like it’s happening to somebody else. I – I’m curious too. I want answers, but maybe there’s a safer way to get them.”</p><p>“Well there is an all-knowing supercomputer in the basement who wants to be our friend? Maybe we can stay back after hours and pay him a visit?” Tim suggested, giving Sasha another encouraging squeeze, only letting her go when her customary smile crept back across her features. “I’ve got some new ideas about how we can get past his censors. Do you reckon spooky future knowledge becomes less spooky when it’s typed out in l33tspeak?”</p><p>Sasha laughed and elbowed Tim in the stomach, before smiling at him warmly.</p><p>“I think that will do the trick.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was past 6pm now and most of the other workers had left the institute to commute back home for the day.</p><p>Martin stayed behind, not wanting to miss an opportunity to interact with his computer crush and was currently in the canteen making another cup of tea to calm Sasha’s nerves.</p><p>Tim had snuck outside earlier and had confirmed that the blonde man, Michael Shelly was still sitting in the café, waiting for her. The café had to close eventually though, and Sasha was hoping that by the time Tim and her left with answers, they wouldn’t run into the guy.</p><p>Sasha sighed, sinking into the plush office chair in the Head Archivist’s office, clicking through a page of cat memes on the office computer, trying to cheer herself up. Technically as they were after hours she couldn’t get in trouble for personal browsing on company time, but if there were ever a day for a ‘hang in there kitty’ it was today.</p><p>Tim was scoping out the warehouse, making sure that the Artefact Storage team had all left for the day. He was due back up here any minute now, he sent a text that Amir and Irina just left for the day, and Emily went home early with a stomach bug. No sign of Douchard, but Tim had to assume he didn’t live in the Institute. That would just be weird.</p><p>Sasha sighed again, loudly to expel some of the stress of the day, and clicked into a picture of two cats meeting each other on a spiked rooftop, the tubby tabby scaling the hostile architecture to meet a fluffy white cat staring down at him from the window above.</p><p>“Aww, they’re on a date.” Sasha mused to herself, imagining a sort of forbidden romance at play when her computer froze.</p><p>She tried clicking onto the next meme but the mouse wasn’t working. Before she could huff a frustrated sigh she heard a click, and looked over to see one of the old magnetic tape recorders on the desk start recording, its reel spinning in the case.</p><p>“That’s …weird.” Sasha observed, reaching over to turn the tape recorder off. She knew she didn’t leave one running.</p><p>When she turned the tape recorder on the desk off another one clicked on from the pile of them kept in storage on the shelves. Then the one on the desk turned back on, and Sasha felt a well of foreboding beginning to rise in her chest, looking between the devices that had all suddenly turned on of their own accord, recording her.</p><p>Her computer screen flashed blue, a fatal error with the load screen maybe? But there were too many spooky coincidences happening at once for this to be a simple technical issue.</p><p>The tape recorders were spewing static, the tinny white noise getting louder as if some colossal power were building in the room around her. Then her computer screen flashed blue completely, and words began to type across the screen.</p><p>The font and layout was the same as the supercomputer downstairs, and she almost felt relieved for a second, that it was just James trying to contact her, until she saw the words he typed out onto her screen.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>SASHA. </em> </strong>
</p><p>The screen glitched and lagged, the next sentence buffering briefly before it appeared on the screen fully loaded, sending a chill down Sasha’s spine.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>HE’S BEHIND YOU. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“<em>Hello little Archivist</em>.” An echoing voice sounded out from just behind her ear, and Sasha screamed, jolting away from the noise, twisting around and practically climbing over her desk in an effort to get away.</p><p>Behind her stood the blonde man she’d seen in the café earlier today, his curly blonde hair and pleasant face watching her with amusement. He held one of the lilies he’d bought from the florist earlier this morning, twirling it in his hands. Unlike earlier in the day he made no attempt to hide his monstrous hands and they curled in the air beside his torso, one arm crossed over his chest, leaning against the filing cabinet on the back wall.</p><p>“Very rude you know.” He said, his voice seeming to bounce off the wall in odd ways. “Leaving me waiting like that. I even brought you flowers.”</p><p>He extended the lily out to her, like an olive branch, and Sasha in her panic blurted out the first thing she could think of.</p><p>“Lilies are poisonous to cats.”</p><p>The creature laughed at that, a delighted echoing sound, the laughter quiet and breathy but at the same time loud like someone had turned the volume up and added an unearthly echo, his laugh bouncing off itself until it felt like it was rattling around in Sasha’s brain.</p><p>“You know, I didn’t expect you to be quite so funny. You are a curious cat, aren’t you? <em>Little Archivist</em>.” It cooed as if charmed by her.</p><p>Sasha was panting heavily, holding the tape recorder from the table out in front of her like a weapon. It was the first thing she grabbed, she panicked.</p><p>Stuttering, she asked. “W-what are you?”</p><p>With a breathy sigh, the creature tilted his head to look at her indulgently. “How would a melody describe itself when asked?”</p><p>Sasha’s brows furrowed, her mouth open as if mildly put out by such a cryptic answer, and the creature laughed at her again, looking her up and down.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure you want a better answer, not another riddle. You like to comprehend the incomprehensible. You like to categorise don’t you, fit things into neat little quantifiable boxes you can study, so you can delude yourself that the fear of the unknown cannot touch you, and when you realise it can, well, then it’s far too late my dear.”</p><p>Sasha swallowed, her jaw tightening.</p><p>Was she being threatened? Was this a threat?</p><p>She wanted to scream for help, but she didn’t want to escalate the situation. It seemed to be playing nice for now, more interested in talking than harming her, so she gripped her tape recorder tighter, holding it more like a safety blanket than a weapon now, stammering out her questions.</p><p>“W-what do you want with me?”</p><p>“Hmm?” The creature’s smile seemed to curl up it’s face unnaturally, its blue eyes and blonde hair incongruous with the twisting monstrosity that gradually began to show. “How would your patron put it? I – I’d like to watch. I’d like to watch your becoming. I’ve never seen much of the appeal of sport before, but spectating the events to come does hold a certain unassailable curiosity, no? Unless, that is, you <em>do</em> want my help? It’s what I’ve come to offer after all.”</p><p>“What help?” Sasha asked, her lips pressing tight together after each sentence in an attempt to stop her lips trembling.</p><p>“You are due to develop a pest problem.” The creature deduced. “Overdue in fact. She’s going to have to make a decision soon, and it will likely be a rash decision. The Flesh Hive supposed you would come to it first, give it something to chase after, but you’re showing a remarkable amount of restraint for an Archivist supposedly gagging for answers. Hardly anything like your predecessor.”</p><p>“What does Gertrude have to do with any of this?” Sasha asked, and the creature let out a snort of dismissive laughter.</p><p>“Why, nothing dear. Gertrude is dead. Died too quickly mind, but it honestly couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. I’m not talking about Gertrude Robinson.”</p><p>“But – but you’re Michael Shelly, aren’t you? Her assistant?” Sasha questioned. “Did she – is she –“</p><p>“I’m no more Michael Shelly than you are the Archivist who came before you, but we all have our moments of becoming, do we not? Michael Shelly died in Sannikov land, falling into the throat of lies, but I existed before him, and I’ll exist after you. But I suppose you can call me Michael if you must. If you want to put a face to a name.” The creature threw the lily onto Sasha’s desk and stepped forward. Sasha shrank back, but he didn’t seem to be walking towards her, instead just looking around the office, taking in all the little details.</p><p>It paused by the stack of fire extinguishers beside the filing cabinets and raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Well, someone <em>does</em> seem to be informed. And here I thought I came bearing such a useful olive branch.”</p><p>“I know about the CO2. How it will work on Prentiss.” Sasha confessed, watching the creature’s perusal of the office warily. “I know you were going to show me – lead me to Timothy Hodge. In the pub. I know already.”</p><p>“Now you’re starting to sound like a BIG Archivist.” Michael spread his hands jazzily, taking a sudden step towards her. “I know <em>this</em>, I know <em>that</em>. I know I know I know. How much do you <em>really</em> know, Little Archivist? How much have you actually <em>seen</em> with your own eyes?”</p><p>“S-stay back!” Sasha pointed the tape recorder at the creature, it was the only thing she had, slowly moving away from it.</p><p>“You don’t need to be so afraid. Or maybe you do.” Michael mused, tapping its chin with a long sharp finger. “Maybe it’s better if you are. It’s certainly more entertaining. But you don’t need to be afraid of me. I came here to be your friend after all. I want to help you Sasha.”</p><p>“I – I don’t want your help.” Sasha asserted shakily. “You’re not my friend, you’re trying to trick me.”</p><p>Michael opened his mouth as if shocked and put his hand on his chest as though wounded.</p><p>“Yes I am.”</p><p>“No – you don’t just show up here and tell me some cryptic… nonsense and tell me you’re my friend. I don’t – that’s not how this works.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Michael stepped closer to her now and his body seemed to stretch taller so he could loom over her, his back curving so she had to look up to meet his eyes. “I thought that was <em>how</em> you made friends with monsters. I’d hate to think I’m the exception to the rule. You’ll hurt my feelings Sasha. That’s not very nice.”</p><p>“Wh-“ Sasha’s brows furrowed, trying to make sense of this, but suddenly a loud noise, like a door slamming open could be heard from the room outside the Archivist’s office.</p><p>“Sasha!! Sasha!” That was Tim’s voice. She spun around and could hear him rattling the door handle trying to get inside.</p><p>Sasha sucked in a deep breath, getting ready to scream for help.</p><p>“TI- mmphhh!”</p><p>The creature was on her in an instant, covering her mouth with its freakishly long hands, its entire body seeming to twist around her, his body bending at unnatural angles to better curl around her. She could feel him pressed up against her back.</p><p>There was nowhere she could run, there was no part of her that wasn’t boxed in by some part of him, and his fingers were cutting her cheeks, the sting of the cut exposed to the air biting a few seconds later, like she hadn’t even registered being cut until the blood had already started to dribble down her cheek.</p><p>“Shhhhh.” Michael whispered, and the hushing sound seemed to refract in on itself several times, like he were consoling a baby, sweetly even. “Shh shh shh. Little Archivist, there’s no point screaming. He already knows you’re here after all. Your <em>other</em> monster friend told him. Do you make a habit of befriending monsters? Or do you simply enjoy being in the company of people who are just like you?”</p><p>“Mmmphf mmmnh.” Sasha protested, nostrils flaring, her mouth still thoroughly muffled, trying to struggle away from Michael while holding still at the same time, not wanting to be cut further by his fingers.</p><p>“Sasha!! Sasha!!” Tim was ramming into the door now; she could hear the thud and pause as he ran up against it again and again.</p><p>“Shhh.” Michael crooned again, petting her face gently now, taking care not to cut her further but still bringing his fingers frighteningly close to her eyes with every gentle stroke. “See? You can hold fear. You’re <em>just</em> as good. When the time comes I think you’ll be able to hold it all, you just need it passed to you. He wouldn’t give it to Elias, no, but you could convince him. You want to know the answers too, don’t you Sasha?”</p><p>Sasha made a pained sound, somewhere between a squeak and a moan, salty tears joining the blood arching down her cheek now, dripping down her chin as she nodded, unsure if she nodded just to agree with Michael.</p><p>“You’re a good Little Archivist. A perfect Archivist. You should have been no one’s second choice. It hurts to be looked over, doesn’t it? Don’t worry. Your competition doesn’t have long now. And when the other Archivist dies, you can take their place. Wouldn’t you like to know everything?”</p><p>Michael gave her arm a squeeze, his fingers cutting through her cardigan, staining the yellow fabric a dark red. Just as Michael let go of her arm, Tim burst through the door, the lock splintering the doorframe.</p><p>Michael pushed her at Tim, who lunged to catch her, and then simply stepped out of a yellow door that wasn’t there before.</p><p>The door closed behind him with a click, and then it disappeared, the wall simply a wall once more.</p><p>When Michael left, the room was silent but for Sasha’s tears, startled gasps of breath at first, before deteriorating into tumbling sobs that almost sounded like laughter.</p><p>“I’ve got you, Sash. I’ve got you.” Tim sunk down to the floor with her when it seemed her legs were too shaky to stand and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if to make up for his absence before.</p><p>“I was so – scared – I was –“ Sasha hiccupped her words out, tears making her sinuses thick and her voice clogged and shaky, clinging to Tim’s patterned shirt. “Tim – I –“</p><p>“I’ve got you.” Tim soothed her, pulling back slightly to take in her cut face. “Are you hurt? Let me see.”</p><p>Martin hovered in the doorway, having arrived sometime after Tim, taking in the red staining Sasha’s cardigan.</p><p>“I’ll get the first aid kit.” He promised, before disappearing to fetch it.</p><p>“I’m – I’m okay.” Sasha eventually said, after getting a handle on her tears, Tim’s presence going some way to calm her. “It’s – it’s just a flesh wound.”</p><p>“Okay John Cleese.” Tim quipped, and Sasha gave a little strained laugh.</p><p>“I – really. I’m fine.” She promised, sounding more sure now. “I’m not badly hurt. He just scared me a little.”</p><p>“What did he want? What did he do?” Tim asked, helping her off the floor but still holding onto her protectively, his fingers gripping tightly around her hand like if he let her go she’d disappear.</p><p>He walked her into the open plan office and sat her down in her work chair, Martin bringing over the first aid kit and watching her with a furrowed brow.</p><p>“He didn’t like that I missed our coffee date.” Sasha made a terse sort of sound as Tim tried to pull off her cardigan, the fabric snagging on the cut. Moving her arm she helped Tim work it all the way down, and moved her sleeve so her co-workers could see the cut properly.</p><p>“And that I didn’t need his information. He came to warn us about Prentiss, just like James said he would, and when he saw the CO2 canisters he started acting creepy. Saying stuff about – about being my friend and watching me turn into a monster or something. Stuff about someone not giving something to Elias but they’d give it to me instead?”</p><p>Tim frowned, holding her hand as Martin cleaned the cut on her arm and put a large plaster on it, moving onto the cut on her face.</p><p>“Giving what to you?”</p><p>“I don’t know. He didn’t explain it. Just kept talking about fear and monsters and being friends with monsters.” Sasha wracked her brain, trying to piece this encounter into something that made sense. “Stuff about the Archivist.”</p><p>Then Sasha froze.</p><p>Martin just finished placing the bandage on her cheek, and looked down at her in askance, Tim recognising that look on her face. The same expression she made when she figured out a particularly puzzling case file discrepancy.</p><p>“It’s James.”</p><p>“The Archivist?” Tim asked. “We know it’s James, he told us remember.”</p><p>“No, it’s – it’s James.” Sasha repeated with more urgency now, turning to look at Martin. “I think he’s dying. We need to get down there, now!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The trio hurtled down the hallways towards Artefact Storage, running, the sound of their feet hitting the tile flooring echoing in the empty building.</p><p>When they reached Artefact Storage the warehouse was unlocked, and the Archival team ran down the end of the aisle to where the computer stood, the blue screen seeming dimmer as if the brightness were fading slowly.</p><p>“Computer. Archivist?” Sasha reached the computer and banged her hand against the wall beside the monitor, her anxiety higher simply by being in Artefact Storage again. “Wake up.”</p><p>“Please don’t be dead.” Martin uttered beside her, also stretching his hand out to gently touch the wall beside the screen. “Please.”</p><p>“Come on. Come on, come on.” Tim muttered, looking about the keyboard to see if there was something he could do to jolt the computer to respond.</p><p>A moment passed, before words began to type on the screen, very slowly as if each letter was an effort.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YOU’RE … SAFE.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Sasha let out a loud sigh of relief and rested her head against the wall. “Yeah, thanks to you. Are you alright?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>TRIED TO … WARN. NEVER DONE THAT BEFORE. PROBABLY TOO WEAK TO ATTEMPT IT.</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Weak? As in hungry? Ohh!” Sasha banged her palm against her forehead in frustration. “Statements. We haven’t been bringing you any. We tried, we really did. Elias said you were off limits. We couldn’t get past the team.”</p><p><strong><em>IT’S OKAY.</em></strong> The computer read, before slowly typing. <strong><em>IT’S BETTER THIS WAY. </em></strong></p><p>The screen began to dim, turning darker by the second as if the life was draining out of it.</p><p>“Wait! No no no! You can’t die.” Sasha stressed, looking to Martin and Tim. “Statements, we need to give him statements. Are there any?”</p><p>“I can run and grab some.” Tim suggested, but Sasha gripped onto his arm like leaving her in Artefact Storage wasn’t an option.</p><p>“There’s no time! Michael said he was dying.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YOU’LL BE BETTER OFF WITHOUT ME… </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Will you shut up!!” Sasha smacked the computer abruptly. “We’re trying to save you.”</p><p>“I’ve – I’ve got some poetry if that would help?” Martin volunteered.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>IT WOULD BE NICE …TO HEAR YOUR POETRY BEFORE I GO …</em> </strong>
</p><p>“God! You’re so fucking dramatic!” Sasha swore, running her hands through her hair, grasping at the roots, her voice pitchy with stress, before standing to face the screen. “I’ve got a statement! You can have my statement. Ready? Statement of Sasha James regarding –“</p><p><strong><em>YOU DON’T HAVE TO</em></strong> – the computer started, but Sasha simply smacked the screen again, and it stopped arguing with her.</p><p>“Shut it. Statement of Sasha James regarding an encounter with the creature Michael. Statement recorded direct from subject, 2nd of June, 2016. S-statement begins.”</p><p>The screen seemed to glow a little brighter then, before an odd feeling gripped the room.</p><p>Sasha was talking, the words flowing out of her about her encounter with Michael, her descriptiveness a stark contrast from her half formed explanations earlier about what had happened, and while she was talking there was this pressure in the room.</p><p>It felt like all three of them were being watched by some incredibly powerful presence, a paranoia and a tension building and prickling the backs of their necks. Tim and Martin felt it more than Sasha did, the thick feeling seeming to stopper their throats, preventing any interruptions, making their chests tight with anxiety as Sasha detailed everything that happened to her today, almost compulsively, leaving nothing out.</p><p>The computer screen was slowly regaining brightness, as if sucking the energy out of the rest of the room, and as Sasha began to talk she felt increasingly breathless, the words gusting out of her without any concern for her breathing or pausing to do so.</p><p>She started to feel dizzy, and gripped onto Tim’s arm tighter, hoping he could keep her upright.</p><p>“Then Michael pushed me. Tim broke through the door and he pushed me and we both fell over. I could hear a click and looked behind me to see a yellow door closing behind him. And then he was gone.”</p><p>It seemed that the spell was broken at those words, and Sasha sucked in a long gulp of air, straining to catch her breath.</p><p>“Statement. Statement ends.” She finished, leaning against the wall near the monitor, the screen glowing a brighter blue at last.</p><p><strong><em>THANK YOU.</em></strong> The computer responded, sounding like a sated man after a full and hearty meal.</p><p>“Is that – are you good now?” Sasha asked. “Do you have enough statements or do you need more?”</p><p><strong><em>WELL I’M NOT DYING ANYMORE</em></strong>. The computer replied, a hint of sass detectable. <strong><em>STILL NOT AMAZING BUT UNLESS YOU HAVE ANY OTHER STORIES YOU’D LIKE TO PART WITH IT’S REALLY</em></strong> –</p><p>“Right. Time to answer a few questions then.” Sasha said, swallowing her anxiety and replacing it with steel. “Are you a monster?”</p><p>There was a long silence, like the computer was unwilling to answer Sasha’s question.</p><p>Impatient, she banged on the screen again. “Hello! No falling asleep in there. I need answers. Well, are you?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’M … MAYBE. I KNOW I’M NOT HUMAN ANYMORE. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Well that’s obvious. You’re a computer. Michael seemed to think you were a monster. He called you my monster friend. I’m not sure I want any monster friends honestly, but right now you’re getting the benefit of the doubt because you’re the only one who’s been giving me straight answers around here. Or well, sort of straight answers.” Sasha conceded. “I know half of the shit you say is redacted, but it’s obvious you’re trying. We just need to find ways to get around that. So, what kind of monster are you? Cursed computer? Hmm? Do you answer questions and eat souls or something? What? What is it?”</p><p><strong><em>I – UH. I EAT STATEMENTS?</em></strong> The computer offered nervously. <strong><em>GENUINE STATEMENTS. I GUESS THAT’S SORT OF LIKE EATING TRAUMA, WHICH I GUESS IS PRETTY MONSTROUS. UM. </em></strong></p><p>“What else can you do?” Sasha probed, Tim and Martin just sort of stepping back and letting her steamroll this encounter.</p><p><strong><em>NOT A LOT WHEN I CAN’T SPEAK</em></strong>. The computer confided. <strong><em>THEN I COULD – I COULD DEFEND MYSELF. I COULD MAKE PEOPLE TELL ME THINGS. I COULD FORCE PEOPLE TO KNOW WHAT THEY’VE DONE. WHAT THEY MADE OTHER PEOPLE FEEL. WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE A VICTIM. I’VE ONLY EVER DONE THAT TO OTHER [REDACTED]. TO OTHER – OTHER MONSTERS. </em></strong></p><p>“Then you are a monster then.” Sasha presumed. “But like, an empathy monster. Who eats stories.”</p><p>It was clear that Sasha’s succinct description left plenty to be desired, but the computer eventually agreed with her.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YES. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“But you told me you were a person too earlier.” Tim interjected, frowning. “So which one is it?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I AM A PERSON. I’M JUST NOT… HUMAN ANYMORE. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Anymore? So you were turned into a monster?” Sasha asked. “How? How specifically?”</p><p><strong><em>THERE WERE CHOICES</em></strong>. The computer explained. <strong><em>I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT I WAS DOING MOST OF THE TIME BUT I WANTED TO KNOW MORE. I – I DIDN’T WANT THIS, TO TURN INTO A MONSTER. ANY OF IT. BUT I – I CHOSE IT APPARENTLY. EVERY STEP OF THE WAY. I FELT LIKE I HAD NO CHOICE.</em></strong></p><p>“You felt like you had no choice, but you supposedly chose to be a monster?” Tim asked sceptically. “Yeah right, that’s a real coherent argument. Are you saying you were manipulated into turning into a computer?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’M NOT A COMPUTER. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Not a computer, not a human. What are you then?” Sasha asked, sounding irritated by the vagueness of it all.</p><p><strong><em>I’M </em></strong>– and the computer began glitching again as it had the last time it tried to divulge it’s name.</p><p>Eventually it gave up again and simply answered<strong><em>. I’M THE ARCHIVIST</em></strong>.</p><p>“Just like Gertrude, right?” Sasha questioned. “Michael was going on about her. About how I’m nothing like my predecessor. But somehow this has nothing to do with her, right? So what’s he talking about? Who is he talking about?”</p><p>The computer seemed to think on that for a while, and before it could answer, there came the sound of footsteps suddenly, echoes bouncing around the warehouse as someone came closer.</p><p>The computer started typing, but only got one letter down when suddenly the screen switched off.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>M-</em> </strong>
</p><p>The trio looked at the now black screen with muted outrage, before turning around to face the source of the noise. Elias Bouchard, holding a television remote in his hand.</p><p>“W- we were talking!!” Sasha protested, too stunned to bother being polite to her boss.</p><p>“I could see that. Without permission might I add. You’ve all been warned not to access the Archive so these repeat offences really have no excuse.” Elias chided them. “Honestly, I expected better from you Miss James.”</p><p>Sasha blinked at Elias, her mouth hanging open in indignation, before she gestured to the bandages on her face.</p><p>“I was just attacked!! By some freaky knife handed monster, and you’re seriously telling me off for trying to find out about it? Are you for real right now?”</p><p>“Miss James, it’s clear your judgement has been impaired, but there’s really no need to take that tone –“</p><p>“Shut up!! Just shut up.” She interrupted shrilly, having had it up to here with forced bureaucracy getting in the way of her getting actual real answers. “I’m not interested in standing here, being lectured by you about not getting the right papers together to find out why some freakish monster just attacked me. I don’t care if you’re <em>disappointed</em>. I don’t <em>need</em> your permission right now. No. If you don’t have something useful to tell me right now then just – give me the bloody remote.”</p><p>Elias seemed taken aback, almost pleasantly surprised by her pushback, his eyebrows raised and his mouth seemingly torn between disapproval and amusement, folding his arms behind his back, the remote hidden from her view.</p><p>“Miss James, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”</p><p>Sasha let out a disbelieving laugh, high on adrenaline. “My life is a fucking horror movie.”</p><p>Two men stepped up from behind Elias, private security by the looks of it, silently backing up the institute head, who was trying to get a handle on the situation now.</p><p>“Miss James, I think it would be best for you to leave now.”</p><p>“Or what?” Sasha questioned, this sense of defiance so foreign to her, the anger coursing through her veins unleashed on a worthy target. She would probably regret this in the morning, but right now she was pumped up on adrenaline, tired, scared, and unbelievably frustrated that the answers she sought were just cut short. She did not care about upsetting her boss right now. “You gonna drag me out? You gonna sack me? You don’t have to fire me, I qui-”</p><p>“Now now, there’s no need for that.” Elias held his hands up, the remote no longer in his hand at all, talking Sasha down like one would a rabid dog. “There’s no need for anything so drastic. However I will insist you take a weeks leave. Mandatory leave. You’ve obviously had a traumatic experience Miss James, I think you would benefit from some time to be with your thoughts <em>away</em> from the Institute. I know the job is taxing, and perhaps I was premature in putting you forward for the role. I know it has it’s pressures and I can see the toll they’re taking on you.”</p><p>“They – you –“ Sasha struggled with her words for a moment, her hands gripping the air in front of her in frustration.</p><p>“Unless you’d like <em>two</em> weeks away from the Institute? I’m sure your colleagues have been similarly affected by the events of today. I’d advise you all to take the out, before it becomes unpaid leave or indefinite suspension.” Elias threatened.</p><p>The security guards took a menacing step forward, and Sasha let her hands fall down to her sides with a frustrated growl.</p><p>“Fine. Leave it is.” She pointed at Elias, her usual cheery bookish disposition replaced with this angry unrestrained version of herself who wasn’t afraid to point directly at her boss. “But when I come back I want answers.”</p><p>Grabbing both Tim and Martin by the wrist, she began to strut past the security guards for the door, leading them both out of the building. “Come on guys.”</p><p>Elias stood by the computer, eyes following the trio all the way out the warehouse, watching, even when Tim stooped and pretended to pass Sasha a crown on their way out, telling her “Queen, you dropped this” to a shock of her laughter echoing through the hallways.</p><p>“Make sure they <em>actually</em> leave.” Elias instructed the guards, and they followed the trio out of the Institute, leaving Elias alone with the computer.</p><p>Elias switched the monitor back on with the remote again only to be met with what had been typed onto the screen.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>&gt;:) </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Oh, shut up Jon.” He muttered and switched the monitor off once more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sasha james IS the 👑 you dropped this queen meme. no question.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was only when the trio were approaching the train station that Sasha’s righteous fury deteriorated. She now seemed to be staring distantly at the empty space in front of her, horror dawning in her eyes.</p>
<p>“I shouted at my boss.”</p>
<p>“You kind of did.” Martin looked at her, concern warring with amusement about the whole situation.</p>
<p>“I swore in front of my boss. I – I told him to shut up.”</p>
<p>“Yeah you did.” Tim confirmed, sounding delighted.</p>
<p>“I pointed at – oh god. I can’t believe! I – right in the face!!“</p>
<p>“Sash. Sash.” Tim put his hand on her shoulder, reaching down to give her hand a squeeze. “Sash.”</p>
<p>“I was so rude!! I was – I said he’d have to drag me out of there – why did I? And in front of security???”</p>
<p>“Sasha Elizabeth James, now you listen to me.” Tim stepped in front of her and crouched down slightly to look her in the eye. “What you did – was badass.”</p>
<p>“My middle name’s not Elizabeth.” Sasha mumbled.</p>
<p>“No buts!” Tim interjected. “Badass! Possibly the highlight of my young life, seeing the look on his face when you tore him a new one. You are not allowed to make yourself feel bad about this.”</p>
<p>“I’ve just never been rude like that before.” Sasha admitted. “Never – never really been so confrontational.”</p>
<p>“Never?” Asked Martin, curiously.</p>
<p>“I mean, there have been plenty of moments when I could have been. But I’m usually good at holding myself back. I mean, I know what people would think if I did go off at them. Don’t want to be seen as ‘the angry black girl’ but –“</p>
<p>“You have a right to be angry when you want to be.” Tim asserted. “Still shitty when people assume though. No one calls me the angry Asian guy when I flip the monopoly board when I’m losing, they just ask why I didn’t become an accountant, and honestly I get enough of that from my mum, so –“</p>
<p>“I think you were really brave for standing up to Elias.” Martin said sincerely. “I bet James was grateful too, that you stood up to him.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well I got us all suspended on leave for two weeks for my bravery. Sorry guys.” Sasha sighed, her shoulders slumping dejectedly.</p>
<p>“Why are you apologising? We get a two week holiday thanks to you.” Tim pointed out.</p>
<p>“Yes, but we can’t go back to the office. There are still case files that could have answers and I get the feeling there’s no way he’ll let us back in the warehouse to talk to James again after that.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay Sash.” Tim consoled her. “James will still be there when we get back. We’ll just have to find another way around it. For now, we should just make the most of it. We’ve had enough spooky shit happening to last a lifetime, a little break to unwind from it all probably isn’t such a bad thing.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Sasha nodded, and tapped her oyster card on the turnstile, walking towards the platform for the Victoria line. “Well, I’ll see you when we get back, I guess.”</p>
<p>Tim snagged her arm, pulling her back slightly. “Where are you going?”</p>
<p>“I –“ Sasha started, having not really thought much about where she was going, operating on autopilot as she usually does when heading home from after work.</p>
<p>“You aren’t going home.” Tim insisted. “Creepy hand guy knows where you live. You’re coming to my place.”</p>
<p>“Wh-“</p>
<p>“I wasn’t joking.” Tim said, his serious expression saying as much. “I don’t think being by yourself is safe right now. We can come to your place tomorrow to get your stuff if you really want, but for tonight you’re coming home with me.”</p>
<p>“But – but what about my toothbrush? And my PJ’s?” Sasha questioned, her brain lagging a little given the abrupt change in direction.</p>
<p>“You can borrow mine. Besides, I’ve got a stockpile of toothbrushes. Buy ‘em in bulk.”</p>
<p>“For all your one night stands?” Sasha asked, the words coming out cattier than she intended them to.</p>
<p>Tim thankfully took it in his stride without taking offence. “Of course. Don’t want to be kissing someone who hasn’t brushed their teeth.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure you shouldn’t have been a dentist?” Martin teased and Tim rolled his eyes with a groan, clapping Martin on the back.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re not my mother? Because you sound exactly like her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Tim’s apartment was surprisingly tidy and quite well decorated. There were little touches of his personality sprinkled about the place – vinyl records on the walls and some of his brother’s photography framed here and there. He had a decent sized television with several gaming consoles in the stand underneath it. All of his furniture had a modern minimalist look but was offset by the abundance of houseplants and books that covered the place.</p>
<p>“I keep forgetting that you used to work in publishing.” Sasha said as she walked into the flat, her hands trailing along the spines of the books lining the many bookcases bracketing the room.</p>
<p>“Yep.” Tim said, setting his satchel down on a hook by the door and stretching his arms over his head. “Then I made the ‘smart career choice’ to transfer to the Institute.”</p>
<p>“You had your reasons.” Sasha said softly, continuing to look at the book titles on the shelves.</p>
<p>“So, did you I imagine. Why did you join?” He asked, shrugging out of his coat and toeing out of his shoes.</p>
<p>“I got poached, I guess.” Sasha explained, setting her own bag and coat down with a slight wince, easing her coat gently off her injured arm. “Used to work at Middlesex Uni doing admin and librarian work mostly while I was finishing my degree. They didn’t pay well, not as well as here anyway and I had a friend who worked at the Institute. Erin, she –“</p>
<p>Sasha fell quiet suddenly, her mouth twisting in regret and sadness.</p>
<p>“She worked in Artefact Storage. Recommended me for the role. I needed the money, and researching Artefacts seemed a lot more interesting than telling off cocky marketing majors who don’t return their textbooks on time. I needed the money so… I took it.”</p>
<p>Tim took in Sasha’s downturned expression for a moment, recognising that talking about her time in Artefact Storage must have pained her. She seemed to recognise her melancholy too, snapping out of it in time to hold her shoes up and look around the room.</p>
<p>“Ah, where should I – do you have a place where you want me to put my shoes?”</p>
<p>“Just in that cupboard there. Here, I’ll do that, you go on in. My room is just down the hall, go sit and I’ll bring you some clothes.”</p>
<p>“I can picture it now. Tim Stoker casual.” Sasha quipped. “You’re going to make me regret this aren’t you?”  </p>
<p>“Just you wait. I’ve got the perfect outfit for you.” Tim said with a teasing grin.</p>
<p>“Oh joy. I brought that on myself really.” Sasha laughed and walked down the hall to the bedroom.</p>
<p>Tim’s bedroom was nice as well, a big four poster king sized bed sat in the middle of the room, with a walk in wardrobe and ensuite off to the side of the room. Sasha took in the unexpected luxuriousness of it all with wide eyes. Tim’s apartment was much nicer than her one. He must have made plenty of money in publishing before he jumped ship to the Institute.</p>
<p>Tim followed through the bedroom door behind her, already taking his tie off and waving his hand at her. “Sit, sit. I’ll get your PJ’s sorted.”</p>
<p>Sasha looked around but the only place to sit was the bed, and as Tim disappeared into his walk in wardrobe, foraging for pyjamas Sasha awkwardly sat down on Tim’s very large bed.</p>
<p>It was bouncy. Without thinking Sasha found herself testing the springs, trying hard not to think about the countless other ways Tim had no doubt tested the springs with his many various partners.</p>
<p>Sasha wasn’t judging him. Tim was a good looking guy and it made sense that he would be out there, going on dates, experiencing a bit of everything. There was just a tiny part of her, a part she was fighting right now, that was just a little bit miffed that Tim wasn’t going on dates with her.</p>
<p>Not that it would be professional, I mean, technically Sasha was Tim’s boss, and dating your employees is ridiculously unprofessional, but workplace romances happened all the time. They certainly did for Tim if Kent, Marie and Emily were anything to go by.</p>
<p>And there was that inner judgement again, raising its hackles. Sasha didn’t have anything against Tim’s colourful love life, but there was a part of her (the part of her that was falling for him slowly, more and more every day) that didn’t want to become just another notch in his belt.</p>
<p>So seeing the huge bed, and the toothbrushes bought in bulk for all the one night stands, and hearing the stories the next day at work whenever Tim had a particularly bold night out made her retreat inwardly, pulling back whenever there was the opportunity to be pulled forward, straight into his arms.</p>
<p>She couldn’t help but find him endearing though, as he returned from his wardrobe holding pyjamas aloft triumphantly.</p>
<p>“Ta-da! These ones have a drawstring waist so they’ll probably fit you and - the best part!”</p>
<p>He was holding out an oversized t-shirt for her. It was yellow (her favourite colour) and had a picture of a kayak on it with the words ‘<em>If you make out in a kayak is it called canoe-odling?</em>’ written around the kayak in pink bubble writing.</p>
<p>A laugh escaped Sasha before she could help it.</p>
<p>“Thanks, I hate it.”</p>
<p>“I knew you’d love it.” He replied, grinning broadly. “You get changed and comfortable, bunny slippers are under the bed –“</p>
<p>“Bunny slippers?” Sasha said disbelievingly, her voice alive with mirth.</p>
<p>“And I’ll get started on some dinner. Bolognaise good for you?”</p>
<p>“I mean, sure.” Sasha smiled back, giving into the sort of good humour Tim brought into any room he was in.</p>
<p>Shaking her head fondly as he left, she picked up the pyjamas and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her to change.</p>
<p>There was a large mirror over the double sinks in the ensuite, and Sasha paused to take in her reflection in the mirror.</p>
<p>With the large square bandages over her cheek, and dried blood staining her yellow cardigan at the arm, she was reminded in a painful rush of her encounter with the creature Michael. How scared she was, how frustrated she was that he wouldn’t give her a straight answer, how relieved she was when Tim came to rescue her.</p>
<p>She’d been a mess today. She cried, she screamed, she bled. She’d ruined her favourite cardigan.</p>
<p>And through it all Tim managed to make her smile.</p>
<p>Sasha lifted the yellow t-shirt and grinned at it indulgently. Setting it on the counter she carefully stripped out of her cardigan and turtleneck, taking care not to put pressure on her injured arm, before stepping out of her work slacks and socks.</p>
<p>She looked over to Tim’s shower, a spacious glass affair with a fancy rainfall showerhead and decided that getting comfortable meant showering off the blood and fear from this afternoon.</p>
<p>It also meant smelling all of Tim’s shower gels and soaps, and it definitely meant putting on the bunny slippers.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Music was playing by the time Sasha was clean and comfortable, and she ventured out to the kitchen where some shouty brit-pop song she’d never heard of was blasting from the Bluetooth speakers on the counter.</p>
<p>Tim’s pyjamas were rolled up around her ankles, the bunny slippers and oversized t-shirt combining to make her feel quite cosy. All this combined with the lovely sandalwood and jasmine scent of Tim’s shower gel and Sasha was feeling a lot better than she had in a long time, enjoying the comforts that being in Tim’s presence could provide.</p>
<p>Whether he provided these same comforts to others before her nagged at her mind unpleasantly, but rather than ruin the reassurance that these small things brought her she chose instead to observe Tim outside of work.</p>
<p>He hadn’t changed out of his work clothes yet, his lavender paisley patterned shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’d discarded his tie and stood in his work slacks and socks with an apron on, singing along to the song playing through the speakers.</p>
<p>Sasha leaned against the doorframe and smiled as Tim seemed swept up in the song, playing the drums against the pots and pans on the stovetop. </p>
<p>“There's a new park in the middle of town. We can run from the cops and hide from the clowns.” Tim sang along, banging his head to the beat. “We can do drugs and diss each other's pipe dreams. And learn all about our anatomy –“</p>
<p>He must have noticed Sasha out of the corner of his eye then, but rather than stop singing he turned to her and sang into the wooden spoon, bobbing his head like an Elvis impersonator, or a pigeon.</p>
<p>“I once was a loyal dog – come on, sing with me Sasha!”</p>
<p>Sasha laughed, the kind of laugh that crinkled her eyes, and she held up her hands in front of her. “I – I don’t know the words.”</p>
<p>“Dance with me then!”</p>
<p>“Wh-“ Sasha’s protests were cut off by Tim grabbing her hands, pulling her into a twirl that she had no choice but to lean into, Tim leading her through his energetic dance steps with ease until she was laughing and moving along with the music.</p>
<p>The sound of her laughter was louder than the music at times, and Tim’s undivided attention was intoxicating. He had a way of making her feel like the most important person in the room, which made it no wonder she developed such a crush on him.</p>
<p>“Life's a precious thing, don’t you throw it away. Don’t you throw it away today.” Tim sang dramatically into his wooden spoon as he dipped her, Sasha’s arms coming up clumsily to loop around his neck, her clumsy squeal petering off into laughter as Tim kept singing.</p>
<p>The song was nearing its end and the singer on the Bluetooth speaker was delivering his final lines. Both Tim and Sasha were flushed and breathless, their furious impromptu kitchen dance leaving them panting as the singer shouted his final lines, Tim singing along.</p>
<p>“And I said the room is filled with people that love you!” He seemed to pause, recognising what he was singing, and the singer on the speaker delivered his final line for him.</p>
<p>
  <em>The Room is Filled With People That Love You!</em>
</p>
<p>Looking down into Sasha’s eyes, Tim abruptly cleared his throat and pulled them both upright. “Sorry, got a bit carried away.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright.” Sasha straightened up awkwardly. “You – you’d probably be good at karaoke. We should go as a team sometime.”</p>
<p>“Right, as a team.” Tim nodded, seeming to swallow any hesitancy down and replace it with a smile. “Would love to. Can’t wait to see Martin sing. I wonder what songs he’d pick.”</p>
<p>“I can’t really picture him belting out a ballad. He’s too quiet.”</p>
<p>“Sappy love songs. I bet that’s what he’d pick. A true romantic that man.” Tim surmised, turning back to stir the bolognaise.</p>
<p>“Speaking of Martin, I reckon we should create a group chat. For the two weeks we’re away from work.” Sasha said, holding up her phone. “James mentioned Prentiss cornering Martin in his apartment, and if we want to look out for each other short of seeing each other every day, maybe we can text a picture? Like as proof that we’re still alive and not eaten by worm monsters or anything like that.”</p>
<p>“Sensible as always.” Tim nodded approvingly. “So we send a selfie to the group chat each day?”</p>
<p>“I think that would be a good idea.” Sasha nodded, setting up the group chat on her phone. She sent a text to the group, letting Martin know what the chat was for, when Tim scooped her phone out of her hands.</p>
<p>“Hey!”</p>
<p>“First selfie, come on! Bring it in.” He crouched down and put his arm around Sasha’s shoulder, tugging her in close and holding up her phone to take a picture of them. “Say cheese.”</p>
<p>Sasha rolled her eyes, but smiled for the camera, certain she looked terrible. Tim however seemed pleased with the picture and sent it to Martin before forwarding it to himself.</p>
<p>“I’m going to keep that. I don’t think we’ve ever really had a photo together. It’s a good one.”</p>
<p>“Of you maybe. I look terrible.”</p>
<p>“No!” Tim argued, sounding outraged.</p>
<p>“I do, I’ve got bandaids on my face, no makeup and I’m wearing your pyjamas. I don’t even want to start on what my hair is doing right now.”</p>
<p>“It looks beautiful, as always.” Tim said simply, before turning off the burner, dumping the pasta in a colander to drain.</p>
<p>Sasha didn’t know how to react to the compliment, so she didn’t, instead opening and closing all of Tim’s cupboards, finding bowls for them and setting out cutlery.</p>
<p>Music was still playing in the background and seamlessly they worked around the kitchen, finishing up their meal like they’d done it together every day of their lives. The domesticity of it all was comforting, as well as scary. It was something Sasha could see herself getting used to, and she couldn’t afford to think like that.</p>
<p>Dinner was lovely, the food delicious and the conversation easy – wandering through topics that had absolutely nothing to do with work and the events of the day, which was a welcome distraction. Sasha used the opportunity to get to know Tim a bit better, who he was outside of work and what he liked, what he disliked, what his hobbies were. He in turn managed to effortlessly work information out of her until he knew everything from what she got for her 8<sup>th</sup> birthday to what GCSE’s she took in high school.</p>
<p>“Now I know how you manage to squeeze so much information out of contacts when you’re investigating case files.” Sasha teased. “You’re a ruthless interrogator.”</p>
<p>“It’s called charm Sash.” Tim grinned. “Obviously.”</p>
<p>It was late in the evening now and the subject of sleeping arrangements cropped up.</p>
<p>“So, you’re taking my bed.”</p>
<p>“Tim, no, it’s fine. I can sleep on the couch.”</p>
<p>“You’re my guest you’re not sleeping on the couch, and you’ve had a shocker of a day. Come on. I promise it’s comfy.”</p>
<p>Feeling the pressure, Sasha relented. “Alright, for one night its okay I guess.”</p>
<p>“And for all the other nights too. We’re off for a fortnight aren’t we?” Tim insisted, and Sasha raised her eyebrows in surprise.</p>
<p>“I – I was under the impression that I was just staying here tonight. I can go back to my flat –“</p>
<p>“Don’t.” Tim said abruptly, before making an effort to sound less imposing. “Please don’t. I – Sash, I just – today was – it was difficult for me seeing another monster attacking someone – someone that’s important to me. Someone that I care about. Brought back… memories. I don’t want to just let you go back home if there’s a chance you could get hurt again, and I don’t want there to have been something more I could have done to protect you and I didn’t do it. Do you get what I mean?”</p>
<p>“You don’t want what happened to Danny…” Sasha trailed off solemnly.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to lose you.” Tim said in a rush. “I can’t – I won’t lose anyone else to whatever the hell is going on. I – I know that may seem a bit overbearing or –“</p>
<p>“I understand.” Sasha nodded, and reached out to grab Tim’s hand. “I’ll stay.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>“But I’m not kicking you out of your bed.” Sasha added.</p>
<p>“It’s not like the couch isn’t comfortable.” Tim argued.</p>
<p>Feeling uncharacteristically bold, Sasha shrugged. “It’s a big bed. I’m not going to take up all of it.”</p>
<p>Tim looked stunned at that, and his surprised look clawed back some of the boldness Sasha initially felt.</p>
<p>“We can go tops and tails!” She blurted out.</p>
<p>Tim chuckled at that and squeezed Sasha’s hand back. “Alright. You want left or right.”</p>
<p>“Left?” Sasha was incredibly grateful her skin was dark enough that it wasn’t obvious that she was blushing hard right now.</p>
<p>“I take right anyway. Works out perfectly. I’ll go grab you a toothbrush.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Sasha said, putting a hand over her heart as Tim left the room, embarrassment sending her pulse racing.</p>
<p>She had managed to calm down a bit after brushing her teeth and washing her face, and when she emerged from the bathroom Tim was already in bed, having moved his pillow down to the end of the bed, sliding under the covers.</p>
<p>“Is this alright?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Sasha swallowed, and approached the bed, sliding under the covers on her side of the bed. “Are you alright sleeping down the bottom.”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>They shuffled around for a bit, getting comfortable, before Tim turned the lights off.</p>
<p>“Goodnight Sasha.”</p>
<p>“Night Tim.”</p>
<p>It took Sasha a while to get to sleep.</p>
<p>She expected to have nightmares about her encounter today, her subconscious only letting her repress so much of a daytime. She knew she would see Michael’s twisting form in her dreams, threatening her all over again.</p>
<p>What she didn’t expect was the other man in her dreams. He just stood there in the corner of the office, silently watching Michael’s assault, a passive observer to the altercation.</p>
<p>He was a short man, skinny in a malnourished sort of way, and he was absolutely swimming in his cardigan. He had long wavy hair tied back in a messy bun, and had skin nearly as dark as Sasha’s, but the strangest thing about him was his eyes.</p>
<p>He was absolutely covered in eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The song Tim sang is called The Room Is Filled With People That Love You by Foresight, The Walrus Filter and when I heard it I thought it was instantly a Tim song so it wove its way into the fic. We're in Tim/Sasha slowburn romance territory now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim was there when she opened her eyes, panting. He was leaning over her with his hands on her shoulders, a panicked expression on her face that caused fresh terror to bloom upon waking.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” She asked, blinking up at him.</p><p>“You – you were having a nightmare.” Tim offered awkwardly, pulling his hands back abruptly and rubbing the back of his neck. “You were screaming actually. I – you’re okay?”</p><p>“Wh – yeah I’m fine.”</p><p>“Don’t feel like running back off into danger?” He said, his tone implying it was a joke but the desperation in his eyes suggesting the opposite.</p><p>“No more than I usually do.” Sasha replied, pushing her hair back and sitting up, looking across at Tim.</p><p>They sat mostly in the dark, but the city lights from outside shone in through the window, faint illumination revealing just how close they were, and just how concerned Tim was.</p><p>Sasha had no doubt he was reliving what had happened to his brother, the terror of being unable to help save him refracting against his helplessness to save her from Michael today.</p><p>Reaching out to him, Sasha gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.</p><p>“I promise, I’m fine. It was just a nightmare.”</p><p>“Oh.” Tim sat back on the bed a bit, looking out the window, before turning around and leaning against the headboard, switching one of the lights on at his bedside table. “Do you want to talk about it? I don’t know if going right back to sleep is –“</p><p>It was then Sasha seemed to sink back into her body, her fear of immediate danger passing, realising that her heart was still pounding from the nightmare, and her throat was a little sore from shouting. She’d never had this sort of nightmare before, nothing so bad it would leave her screaming.</p><p>Settling back against the headboard next to him, Sasha made a point to exhale some of the tension from her shoulders.</p><p>“I could stay up for a bit. It wasn’t anything too intense. Just kind of replaying what happened in the office today.” Sasha shrugged. “They say nightmares are the body’s way of processing traumatic events, so I kind of suspected my subconscious would give me a wake-up call.”</p><p>“Scourge of the British, that subconscious. Ruins all our perfectly choreographed repression.” Tim joked and nudged her shoulder with his own playfully.</p><p>“Right?” Sasha laughed. “I thought it would all go away after a cup of tea. So rude!”</p><p>“Terribly.” Tim grinned at her and continued to lean against her shoulder.</p><p>Sasha looked down at the bedsheets for a moment, before speaking again on the nightmare. “It was funny though, there was this element that seemed to be amping up the fear. Don’t get me wrong, today was scary, but there was this thing – wow this is going to sound so odd.”</p><p>“Dreams often are. Mine often involve giant talking catfish that sound like my mother telling me exactly how to save the world.” Tim said this so matter of factly that a laugh burst from Sasha.</p><p>“This somehow explains so much about you.”</p><p>Tim waggled his eyebrows at her.</p><p>“Well I don’t feel so weird about saying this now. There was another man in the dream who wasn’t there today. Got no idea why I’d imagine up this guy, he just kind of stood in the corner of the office watching everything. He didn’t help me he just stared. I got the weirdest feeling that I knew him from somewhere though.”</p><p>“What did he look like?” Tim asked.</p><p>“Well, I could pick out some of his features. Like, he had dark skin like me, and long kind of messy hair tied back in a bun with like, streaks of grey in it. Kind of looked like he doesn’t get a lot of sleep. Very skinny, and short with glasses. Big cardigan, so obviously a kindred spirit there.” She joked.</p><p>“Your dream nerd hey? Astral projecting to ogle the damsel in distress?” Tim teased, his words almost snide. “Where do you know him from then?”</p><p>“Well that’s just the thing, I don’t know. I’ll get to the weird déjà vu ‘have I seen him somewhere before’ in a bit though, I still haven’t told you the weirdest thing.”</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>“He was covered in eyeballs.” Sasha said bluntly.</p><p>“What, like – floating around him?”</p><p>“I think they were in his skin actually. Lots of eyes, all staring at me. It was kind of creepy. Probably spooked me more than Michael did.”</p><p>“Think you’d remember meeting someone like that.” Tim observed. “A creepy eye guy.”  </p><p>“Well, that’s just the thing, sans the eyeballs I’m pretty sure I met someone who looks like that in the Institute. Might have bumped into them in the library or something, but I definitely get the feeling I’ve met him before.” Sasha sighed. “I just can’t remember where.”</p><p>“We’ll have to keep an eye out then.” Tim winked, emphasising his pun. “When we get back to the institute.”</p><p>Sasha reached for her phone on the bedside table. “Maybe I can ask Martin if he remembers someone like that. Martin’s good with people.”</p><p>“Martin’s probably asleep.” Tim reminded her. “It is 3AM Sash.”</p><p>“He’ll see it when he wakes up then.” Sasha said stubbornly, still texting her description of the man in her dreams to Martin.</p><p>“Is there the possibility to consider that this eye guy doesn’t actually exist? I mean, you did see him in a dream. Dreams can make you think anyone’s familiar.” Tim pointed out.</p><p>Sasha paused at that, before turning to look at Tim. “Am I being silly?”</p><p>“I mean, not necessarily –“ Tim started.</p><p>“I’m being silly.” Sasha deduced, matter of factly. “Right, I’ll revisit this in the morning. No sense waking Martin up now.”</p><p>“Maybe it was symbolic?” Tim suggested. “All your teeth falling out means anxiety, maybe a bloke covered in eyeballs is symbolic of being under scrutiny or something? Elias has been giving you a hard time lately.”</p><p>“Over an all-seeing off-limits computer.” Sasha conceded. “That’s like double scrutiny. Maybe you’re right.”</p><p>“I could also be wrong. We can ask Martin in the morning.” Tim suggested.</p><p>Sasha yawned. “In the morning then, after a coffee. Night Tim.”</p><p>She snuggled back down under the covers, and Tim huffed a laugh at her no-nonsense abruptness. “Night Sash.”</p><p>He reached for the lights and rather than shuffling around towards the end of the bed again, not wanting to risk moving and waking Sasha up again, he sunk down next to her and tried his best to close his eyes.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Tim woke up the next morning, he was surprisingly warm.</p><p>His boss sprawled all over him like an octopus would be why.</p><p>Wiggling out from under her delicately, Tim tried to extricate himself from her grasp, and nearly managed, until her head hit the pillow instead of his chest.</p><p>“Hu-wha-?” Sasha blinked her eyes open blearily, clearly not yet with it.</p><p>“Rise and shine!” Tim attempted, like she hadn’t just been drooling over his shirt.</p><p>It took Sasha a little longer to become coherent without the adrenaline from a nightmare pumping through her, so Tim got to see the miracle of a post-coffee Sasha. It was a novelty to see someone so switched on fumble around the kitchen, awareness slowly returning to her body bit by bit as if daylight chased away the bits of Sasha James that weren’t so astoundingly practical.</p><p>After sitting down for some breakfast (Tim made porridge) Sasha reached for her phone.</p><p>“You texting Martin?”</p><p>“Mmm hmm. Saw the eyeball man again last night. I’ve definitely seen him somewhere before. Oh, Martin sent a picture! Did you know he knits? I can see it in the background.”</p><p>“Full of surprises, our Martin. Yet somehow not at all surprising.”</p><p>“He says he sort of remembers someone who matches my description of eyeball guy.” Sasha reported, reading Martin’s text. “But he doesn’t know his name either, Martin says he saw him in the library once or twice and got the impression he was a bit of a recluse. Kind of perpetually irritated, Martin said. Maybe a researcher?”</p><p>“We should ask James. Bet he’d know.” Tim suggested, taking their plates from the table.</p><p>“I wonder if he could text us.” Sasha mused. “You said he sent a message to your phone the other day, and he jumped onto my computer for a bit.”</p><p>“Fairly sure doing that almost killed the guy.” Tim corrected her. “Though I’ll admit, it would be handy to have some actual answers for once.”</p><p>“Honestly.” Sasha agreed and sat back with a loud exhale, all the tension puffing out of her. “What do we do now?”</p><p>“Relax, I think.” Tim suggested with a laugh.</p><p>“For two weeks?” Sasha asked, as if the suggestion was so impossibly dull.</p><p>“That’s the idea, yeah.”</p><p>“God.” Sasha exclaimed woefully, then laughed. “How is this my life? Miffed because I’ve got to relax for two weeks away from work.”</p><p>“Well, to be fair – you just found out there’s some big nasty conspiracy that you’re involved in. Two weeks without answers does seem like a stretch.”</p><p>“Ugh.” Sasha threw her hands forward and thumped her head down on the table.</p><p>Tim patted her hair dotingly. “There, there. I know just what will help the time fly, don’t you worry.”</p><p>“What?” Sasha looked up hopefully, catching the gleam in Tim’s eye as he replied.</p><p>“Let’s go have fun.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Two weeks flew by thanks mostly to Tim’s sterling distractions. They went rock climbing, saw movie after movie, played video games, went to the art gallery, even met up with Martin a few times for dinner out on the town. Karaoke, although threatened, was not attempted, but there were many more nights of dancing around the kitchen.</p><p>The energy Tim brought to daily life was a whirlwind, exactly what Sasha needed, and he was tactful about never mentioning how much she clung like a limpet to him whilst asleep.</p><p>These two weeks had been like riding a compulsory high, but the persistent itch of knowing information was being withheld from her stayed with her, and when at last it was time to return to the Institute, Sasha was so eager she completely forgot the dread circumstances that had been building up around her.</p><p>She recalled quickly enough however, when upon arriving at the Institute with Martin and Tim in tow, she saw the worms on the pavement in front of the building.</p><p>“Oh urgh.” Sasha reeled backwards, pushing the boys back with her umbrella. “Look.”</p><p>“That’s … not good.” Martin paled slightly, and Tim pulled the mini fire extinguisher from his backpack.</p><p>Turning the CO2 on the writhing pests, Tim covered them in a coating of foam, the writhing stopping after several seconds.</p><p>Straightening up with a sigh, Tim gestured for his co-workers to walk on in. “Just another day in the office.”</p><p>Walking into the Archives, the team got settled. Sasha was greeted by a snippy email from Elias reiterating the parameters of her role and reminding her of the protocols for accessing Artefact Storage.</p><p>“Such bullshit. 100% he’s just being cagey about the warehouse because James is down there.” Sasha complained, Tim and Martin leaning over to read the email over her shoulder.</p><p>“What’s this bit about then? Warehouse security personnel?” Tim frowned, pointing to the line.</p><p>“I know we’ve got security personnel for the building after hours, but not in the warehouse.” Martin added, frowning at the email.</p><p>“His way of telling us he’s got people guarding James so we can’t get to him, no doubt.” Sasha’s lip curled. “He’s just rubbing it in at this point.”</p><p>“Well, what do we do now?” Martin asked, turning to Sasha expectantly. “How do we get around it? We need to do something.”</p><p>“What can we do? Go up against our evil boss? Beat up the security guards?” Sasha laughed mirthlessly, endlessly frustrated that Elias was cutting her off from answers yet again.</p><p>“Can we call the police?” Martin suggested. “James said he was a person, if there really is a person trapped down in Artefact Storage maybe the police can do something about it? I mean, it’s technically a kidnapping, right?”</p><p>“Somehow I don’t think the police will put rescuing a computer high on their priority list.” Sasha slumped forward, resting her chin against her hand. “Even for an AI with personhood. Elias will probably explain it all away, like he did to us. It’s just a new project, its an Archivist Simulator, it’s just having some coding errors, that sort of thing.”</p><p>“There is a room behind the wall.” Tim remarked. “I saw Douchard coming out of it once. You don’t think there’s actually someone living back there, do you?”</p><p>“Maybe.” Sasha’s eyes lit up with an idea. “Maybe the police can find out.”</p><p>“We’d need evidence. We can’t just go accusing Elias –“ Martin began.</p><p>“I bet there’s something we can use. The tape recorders turn on by themselves all the time, maybe there’s something in here.” Sasha got up and headed into the Head Archivist’s office, Tim and Martin waiting for her to speak, until they heard a clattering sound.</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>“Just got spooked. I was trying to get the tape recorders off the top shelf, and a spider crawled over my hand.” Sasha explained, and Martin went over to the office door.</p><p>“I can take it outside for you if you want.” Martin offered, already holding his hands out ready to catch the offending spider.</p><p>“It’s okay, it already –“ There was a crash, and Tim got up, racing to the doorway to see Sasha had jumped away from the wall, tape recorders scattered about the floor spilling reels of tape messily all over.</p><p>“The shelf collapsed.” Sasha explained.</p><p>“The cheap shelves in this place, I swear.” Tim shook his head, walking further in to take Sasha’s hand. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, they just missed me.” Sasha explained, stepping over the recorders on the floor delicately. “They just fell – oh. Look.”</p><p>She pointed at the wall behind the shelf, a nasty looking dent made just behind the shelves.</p><p>“Woops. Must have dented when the shelf collapsed.” Tim shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it, let Douchard fix it. He’s got the budget for it.”</p><p>“No, look. The dent goes right through. I thought this was an exterior wall.” Sasha pointed out.</p><p>“It should be.” Martin confirmed, stepping into the office.</p><p>Sasha let go of Tim’s hand and climbed over the pile of tape recorders, examining the dent in the wall. “Hmm. I think it’s just plasterboard.”</p><p>Sasha pulled a bit of the plaster off, and a cavity behind the wall came into view.</p><p>“Do you see anything?” Martin asked.</p><p>“No, I don’t think so. It –“ Sasha responded, but paused, and a wet wriggling sound could be heard, ominously building in volume to suggest a veritable deluge of squirming writhing creatures pressing ever forward.</p><p>Tim had her hand again in an instant, tugging her to the door.</p><p>“Sasha, run. RUN!”</p><p>Then the worms broke through into the Archive, and Sasha screamed.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Grab a fire extinguisher!!”</p><p>“There’s too many of them!”</p><p>“Spray, just keep spraying!”</p><p>“They just keep coming, there’s too many!”</p><p>“We have to run! Run – Sasha what are you doing?”</p><p>“Just spray around me!” Sasha screamed, having climbed on top of one of the desks in the outer offices.</p><p>There was a lighter sitting on the desktop, a gold snap lighter with a spider web pattern on it and a consignment sheet underneath it. Sasha snatched it up, despite her colleagues screaming at her to move, and stood on the table holding the lighter up to the fire alarm on the ceiling, waiting for the smoke to set it off.</p><p>The spray of the extinguishers was loud, and Tim was shouting at her to move, to go, quickly, but she was stubborn.</p><p>“Come on.” Sasha clenched her jaw, flicking the ignition again when the flame sputtered briefly. She ignored the swarming worms that crawled over the carcasses of their suffocated fellows to gain higher ground, leaping towards her only to be buffeted away by Tim's expertly directed puffs of CO2.</p><p>At last, the fire alarm began to beep, signalling a klaxon alarm through the whole Institute.</p><p>Tim yanked Sasha from the desk and pulled her to the door, Martin right behind him and they slammed the door to the Archives shut.</p><p>“Did you see Prentiss?” Sasha asked, struggling to keep pace with Tim’s purposeful strides. “If we could get her –“</p><p>“I – I didn’t see her. I don’t see her – URGH!” Martin flinched, shoving both of them away from the door protectively, worms already wriggling under the gap by the floor.</p><p>Tim sprayed the base of the door with his extinguisher, but already the contents of the mini extinguisher were sputtering out. “Has anyone got another one?”</p><p>“They – they’re all in the office. I – the one in my bag, the one in Martin’s bag –“ Sasha answered, panicked.</p><p>“Right, time to run.” Tim decided, already heading towards the Institute’s exit.</p><p>Sasha pulled his hand back abruptly, stopping him.</p><p>“Wait. Everyone’s going to be leaving the Institute.”</p><p>“Yes, because you set off the alarm, very smart Sash. They’re leaving, so should we.” Tim said, exasperated, not liking the determined look on her face.</p><p>“What I mean is, there will be nobody guarding Artefact Storage.” She added, giving Tim a meaningful look.</p><p>“Guys, there’s more worms, I think they’re eating through the door. Guys!” Martin urged them, tugging on Sasha’s sleeve, but she was embroiled in a stare-off with Tim, two stubborn personalities butting heads.</p><p>“Sasha, is now really the time?”</p><p>“There are worms in the Archives Tim. Prentiss is probably here.”</p><p>“Which is exactly the reason we should be running – right now!”</p><p>“The fire alarm’s got everyone out of the building –“ Sasha began.</p><p>“But it hasn’t set the CO2 suppression system off, has it? Sasha, <em>worms</em>!!!” Martin stressed.</p><p>“We have to set it off manually then.” Sasha deduced.</p><p>“Everyone is leaving the building!!” Tim emphasised. “What does it matter?”</p><p>“Prentiss could destroy the Archives Tim!” Sasha stressed, the worms pressing through faster now. “I still have so many questions. Do you really want what happened to – what happened to everyone in one of those statements – do you really want them to remain a mystery?”</p><p>“You can get your fill of answers later! There’s an all-knowing supercomputer in the basement!” Tim snapped.</p><p>“Who probably knows how to set off the CO2 remotely Tim! We need to –“</p><p>“Guys!!” Martin shouted, and pushed them down the corridor towards the warehouse, looking over his shoulder in terror.</p><p>Jane Prentiss stood there, worms wriggling out of the hundreds of open holes that honeycombed her entire body. Her red dress was in tatters, and her hair was dark and matted, still recognisable though. Her eyes had been eaten away, worms dangling out of the empty sockets, and her mouth was open in a twisted smile.</p><p>“<em>Do you hear their song</em>?”</p><p>“Fuck.” Tim swore, and pushed Sasha and Martin behind him. “Alright run. I’ll catch up with you.”</p><p>“Tim! Tim no!” Sasha screamed, as Timothy Stoker lunged and punched Jane Prentiss right in the face. “Damnit Tim!”</p><p>Martin pushed her around the corner and Sasha had just enough time to see Prentiss go down and Tim shake his hand rapidly before running after them.</p><p>“Run! RUN!” Tim urged, and all three of them ran as fast as their legs could carry them down into the Institute, making a beeline for Artefact Storage.</p><p>The pound of their feet hitting the tile and the wet writhing of worms following after them echoed in the empty corridors of the Institute, and when the trio skidded around the corner to the warehouse, the heavy sliding door that sealed Artefact Storage shut was open, but just barely.</p><p>“Come on, squeeze through. Martin, you go first.” Sasha panted.</p><p>“Me? I’ll get stuck.”</p><p>“No you won’t. Think of it this way, would you rather be stuck out here?” Sasha asked, her voice a forced mockery of it’s usual cheeriness, a glint of ‘do not argue with me Martin Blackwood’ lighting her eyes.</p><p>“Right. Help me with the door?”</p><p>Martin and Sasha lunged forward, throwing both of their weight into pushing the heavy door open. Tim was cradling his hand, the hand he punched Prentiss with, and he stood as lookout, checking the corridors until the door was open enough for Martin to slip through.</p><p>“I’m in!” Martin cried, and Sasha grabbed the back of Tim’s shirt, yanking him in along with her.</p><p>All three of them struggled with the door, trying to push the thing shut. It juttered on it’s rollers slowly, agonisingly so, and from the other side of the door they could hear Prentiss.</p><p>“<em>Little Archivist.”</em> She hissed. “<em>Can’t you hear them singing</em>?”</p><p>“Fuck.” Sasha croaked, tearing up as, with their combined efforts, the heavy metal door finally shut all the way.</p><p>Artefact Storage was dark. Without light, how could they tell if the worms could get in?</p><p>Sasha could hear them squirming, their tiny bodies thudding into the door itself, but nothing on this side yet.</p><p>“I can’t see anything.” Tim swore.</p><p>“There’s a light on my phone.” Martin supplied, and helpfully turned it on.</p><p>The room was much the same as it had been two weeks ago. The only noticeable difference was a large coffee table in the middle of the room.</p><p>Martin immediately switched off the light.</p><p>“Don’t look at the table guys. Remember what James said, just keep moving.”</p><p>“That’s helpful. Don’t look but keep moving.” Tim griped. “If I stub my toe on a cursed cupboard or something I’m going to sue.”</p><p>Sasha laughed, high and hysterical at that, before groping forward in the dark, reaching out to grab both of the boys.</p><p>“Is that you?” Sasha asked. “We should hold onto each other, so we don’t get lost.”</p><p>“You’ll have to take my left hand.” Tim offered.</p><p>“Right.” Sasha nodded and grabbed two hands on either side of her.</p><p>“No, left.” Tim joked, and Sasha squeezed his hand in retaliation.</p><p>“I think I see the blue screen.” Martin declared. “At the end of this aisle.”</p><p>“Let’s go.” Sasha nodded, and let Martin lead the way.</p><p>As they approached the end of the aisle, the blue screen came into view, and all three of them sighed in relief.</p><p><strong><em>YOU’RE OKAY</em></strong>. The screen read, and Sasha could tell James was relieved too.</p><p>“Boy are we glad to see you.” Sasha let go of some of the tension in her shoulders. “How do we get out of this?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I – THERE’S A CO2 SUPPRESSION SYSTEM. ELIAS HAS HIS FINGER ON THE BUTTON TO SET IT OFF BUT HE’S STALLING ON PURPOSE. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Why am I not surprised.” Tim grumbled. “That’s another tick in the evil boss tally.”</p><p><strong><em>THAT DOOR WON’T KEEP THEM OUT FOR LONG</em></strong>. The computer read. <strong><em>I – IT’S HERMETICALLY SEALED IN HERE. PROBABLY THE MOST REINFORCED PLACE IN THE INSTITUTE. YOU'D BE SAFE IN HERE.</em></strong></p><p>“Alright.” Sasha said, trying the door handle.</p><p>It didn’t budge, and she paused, ducking down to look at the keypad beside it. “What’s the code?”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>[REDACTED]</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Damnit!” Tim swore and hit the wall with his injured fist, swearing again at the pain.</p><p>“I – there’s got to be another way.” Martin fretted. “You can spell out the numbers? Or do them line by line, like an acrostic.”</p><p>Tim chuckled darkly, the pain and adrenaline making him flippant. “Tell him about the l33tspeak.”</p><p>“I don’t think now’s the time.” Sasha said rather sharply, watching the letters fill the screen, words backspacing until the correct configuration of letters was found.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>ONE. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>NEIN. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>SEVEN.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>TRIO. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“1973.” Martin read out. “Put it in.”</p><p>Sasha plugged in the numbers and the light beside the door handle flashed from red to green. Turning the handle and yanking the door open, all three of them hurried inside before slamming the door shut behind them.</p><p>The door sealed shut with a hiss.</p><p>Sasha leaned with her back against the door once they were all in, exhaling a sigh of relief.</p><p>“Everyone okay?”</p><p>“Mostly.” Tim replied. “Aside from the crummy hand.”</p><p>“Martin?” Sasha asked, looking up to see Martin staring at what was in front of him.</p><p>The room they ran into, upon closer observation, wasn’t some kind of server room. There were computers, yes, and a desk, with a filing cabinet beside it, but it was like the room was split in half, with a window looking into a small, mirrored room.</p><p>It must have been a two-way mirror. That would be the only reason the rest of the walls would be mirrored too.</p><p>Inside the room was a bed, a toilet and a sink, a desk and another computer, and at it sat a man that Sasha had seen before.</p><p>She could just see the top of his head, as the computer was in front of him, but from the messy bun and baggy cardigan, she knew her déjà vu was on the money.</p><p>It was him. The man who had been plaguing her dreams for the past two weeks.</p><p>Albeit with far fewer eyes.</p><p>“You!” Sasha pointed at him dramatically, and Martin and Tim startled, looking between the two of them.</p><p>“Is that … James?” Martin guessed, and he could see the man’s eyes look up at them from above the computer before he looked back down again, typing something on the keyboard.</p><p>Words began to show on the computer inside the room, that same blue screen serving as the conduit.</p><p><strong><em>THAT’S NOT ACTUALLY MY NAME</em></strong>.</p><p>“I – sorry. We didn’t know what to call you.” Martin explained, rambling the way he tends to when flustered. “We couldn’t just keep calling you computer. That seemed very –“</p><p>“Is it Jon?” Sasha blurted out abruptly.</p><p>“Sash, we almost died. Is now really the time to chase 40 quid?” Tim pointed out with a disbelieving laugh.</p><p>Sasha was only half looking at Tim, focusing on the man behind the two-way mirror, his eyes widening expressively.</p><p>The man nodded, Sasha could see the top of his head bobbing up and down from behind the computer.</p><p>She was chasing an epiphany brought on by adrenaline and fear for her life and suddenly the world seemed pulled into sharper focus.</p><p>“Are you Jonathan Sims?” Sasha asked, and the man nodded again, standing up.</p><p>Sasha could see his face now, in its entirety without the computer shielding it and the first thing she noticed was that he was not covered in eyeballs like in her dream, but instead a myriad of small scars all over his body where the eyeballs had been.</p><p>The second thing she noticed was the huge hunk of metal that completely covered his mouth and seemed to lock around the back of his head.</p><p>He reached out and put a hand against the glass, as if yearning to reach them, that yearning shining clearly in his eyes.</p><p>Without thinking, Sasha jolted forward and placed her hand on the other side of the glass, taking in the sight of Jonathan Sims, their boss who mysteriously disappeared prior to assuming the Head Archivist’s position, a silent captive in whatever sick game Elias Bouchard was playing.</p><p>Martin pressed his hand to the glass too, his brow creased in pity and concern, and Jon looked over to him as well, as if drinking in the sight of him.</p><p>Half of his face was covered by the large oppressive looking metal gag, but he still managed to be so completely expressive, his wide eyes looking at Martin like a man who hadn’t seen the sun in years.</p><p>He looked back to Sasha, and even over to Tim, looking just so profoundly grateful it was a little frightening.</p><p>What had Elias been doing to him that just the sight of his would-be assistants inspired such bone deep relief?</p><p>The man was utterly covered in scars. His right hand was covered in a large burn mark, the shiny skin pink in the fluorescents of the room he was trapped in. Sasha could see a scar on his neck, like someone had slit his throat, and several smaller circular scars dotting his neck and hands. He was unbelievably skinny, like he hadn’t had a meal in months, and his eyes were wet now as they crinkled at the corners.</p><p>He was smiling at them. Like he was just so pleased to see them.</p><p>“Shit.” Tim swore, stepping closer to the glass. “You – the guy who was going to be our boss – you? I think I've seen you in the library before. You - What did Elias do to you?”</p><p>Jon made an odd gesture, like he was about to try and talk but realised belatedly that he couldn’t. Then he made to sit back down at the computer again, but Tim held out his hand.</p><p>“You know what? Right now, I don’t care. We’re getting you out of there.”</p><p>Tim picked up the empty fire extinguisher he’d been carrying and rammed it into the two-way mirror.</p><p>Sasha and Martin jumped back with a shout, but the glass only cracked, a small indent made.</p><p>“Tim!”</p><p>“Right, sorry. Should have said ‘stand back’ but I think you get the picture.” Tim shrugged, getting ready to smash the extinguisher against the glass again. “Might as well ride the adrenaline high before it wears off. I’ve a feeling my hand is going to hurt like hell later.”</p><p>“Wait – we can do it. Don’t –“</p><p>Too late.</p><p>Tim smashed the extinguisher against the glass again, and then once more.</p><p>Jon stepped back, climbing up to stand on top of the small cot pressed up against the corner of the room but there wasn’t much space for him to avoid the glass when Tim finally broke through.</p><p>The glass broke in large pieces. It wasn’t safety glass. The shards fell all over the floor of the small room, and Tim continued to ram the extinguisher against the glass, knocking the spikes away until it was smoother, something safer to climb through.</p><p>Sasha noticed that Jon had no shoes, and worried, his bare feet sure to be torn to ribbons if he tried to walk over to them.</p><p>“His shoes – Tim –“</p><p>“I’ll do it.” Martin volunteered, in a pique of unexpected bravery. “My shoes are thicker than Tim’s.”</p><p>“Be careful of the glass.” Sasha warned.</p><p>Martin lay his coat over the broken edge of the two-way mirror and clambered into the small room, the glass crunching under his feet. He approached Jon cautiously, with gentle hands held out in front of him.</p><p>“Hi. I know it might be hard to trust me – I mean you don’t know me so –“</p><p>Jon shook his head at that.</p><p>“Oh. You do know me. Well, then you know I want to help. I – I’m going to need to pick you up, is that okay?”</p><p>Jon seemed appreciative of the check in, but nodded impatiently, waving his hands as if to usher Martin over. When he was close enough, he looped his arms around Martin’s neck like they’d done it a million times before and stared at Martin unflinchingly as his face grew redder, as if enthralled by the experience.</p><p>Martin looped another arm under Jon’s legs, lifting him up in a princess carry, and was aghast to note just how light he was. He shouldn’t be able to pick up an adult like this without at least a little strain, but Jon’s limbs were so skinny. He was so small compared to Martin. He seemed already rather short in stature, but how thin he seemed was disturbing.</p><p>Martin was acutely aware that Jon might have been trapped in here since January. Since he was offered the job. He must have been starved by Elias for months. It was a wonder he was still standing, still alive, given how emaciated he was.</p><p>Martin carefully carried Jon over past the mirror and let him set his feet on the ground, before climbing over behind him.</p><p>“Pick up Archivists often, do you?” Tim couldn’t help but quip, noting the twin blushes that bloomed over both men’s faces.</p><p>“You’ve never picked me up before.” Sasha added, feigning hurt, one hand on her chest.</p><p>“I – these were… extenuating circumstances alright? Oh, leave off.” Martin scolded them, flustering easily.</p><p>“So now what?” Tim asked.</p><p>Jon raised his hands as if to speak, then looked around, trying to find something to communicate with.</p><p>He walked to the computer in this half of the room and looked between the Archival staff and the screen as if to check they were watching, before he began typing.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>BEFORE WE DO ANYTHING I NEED TO REMOVE THE WORMS FROM YOU. </em> </strong>
</p><p>On this side of the screen his words weren’t redacted thankfully, and that realisation set in before any of them could wrap their heads around what Jon was actually saying.</p><p>“Tim!” Sasha exclaimed, looking at his hand in horror. “Did - did they get you?”</p><p>Jon pointed to each of them in turn.</p><p>“They got all of us?” Sasha sounded horrified. “But – I didn’t even feel – how would they –“</p><p>Jon held his hands out in front of him as if to urge them to calm down before he turned and began rummaging through the filing cabinet next to the desk.</p><p>With a conflicted expression he withdrew a scalpel and some pliers from one of the drawers, pointed to himself and then pointed to each of them.</p><p>“Why are those in a - a bloody filing cabinet – what the fuck - ?” Tim’s face was twisted with disgust, more concerned about why there was surgical equipment in the room adjacent to Jon’s than the worms that were currently attacking him.</p><p>Jon shook his head, and then went back to the screen.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I KNOW WHERE THEY ARE AND I CAN GET THEM OUT. MAY I? </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Is this going to hurt?” Sasha asked with trepidation. “How do you know where they are? We – we probably can’t get out of here if we’re all cut up.”</p><p>Jon shook his head again and turned back to the keyboard.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>IT WILL HURT LESS THAN BEING EATEN ALIVE BY WORMS WOULD. I KNOW WHERE THEY ARE. I CAN SEE THEM. I CAN MAKE A SMALL CUT AND PULL THEM OUT. I – THERE’S NOT ANY ANESTHETIC IN HERE BUT IF YOU COULD PLEASE JUST TRUST ME. I CAN HELP. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Get them out then.” Tim shoved his hand forward decisively, his distaste for the worms overpowering any reservations he might have.</p><p>Jon gently took Tim’s hand, then turned it over and carefully cut his sleeve, looking intently before making a small incision on his upper arm from which he began to pull the worms out. Tim hissed and gritted his teeth as Jon pulled a total of four worms from him, through three different incisions.</p><p>While Jon carefully and skilfully pulled the worms from Tim, Sasha was panicking.</p><p>She hadn’t even noticed the worms getting her, she didn’t feel anything, but now it was like her entire skin had a terrible itch right underneath the surface. She was trying hard not to panic but it was creeping up on her.</p><p>When Jon approached her, he gave her a solemn look, as if cataloguing the panic she was trying so hard to stifle, and dropped down to his knees, lifting the edge of her skirt.</p><p>"O-okay." </p><p>Sasha felt him make a small incision just under her knee, and steeled herself as he pulled one worm out, squashing it as soon as it was removed.</p><p>“Is - is that it? How – how do you know there aren’t more – how do you –“</p><p>Jon shook his head, and then held up one finger as if to reassure her that she really just got bitten the once. He then moved to Martin and removed two from his calf as well, taking care to be as gentle as possible.</p><p>When he was done, he threw the scalpel and pliers down, and went back to the computer, typing.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>YOU’RE FINE NOW. YOU DIDN’T GET BITTEN TOO BADLY. COULD HAVE CERTAINLY BEEN WORSE. TIM HAD THE MOST. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“I punched her.” Tim explained, quick to own up to his moment of heroism.</p><p>Jon raised his eyebrows, giving Tim a wry glance, before typing again.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I SAW. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“How do you know there aren’t more?” Sasha asked, still feeling perturbed and unclean from the experience, the itch crawling all over her skin, a physical repulsion to the worms.</p><p><strong><em>I KNOW</em></strong>. He typed with certainty. <strong><em>I WOULD BE ABLE TO SEE IF THERE WERE ANY MORE.</em></strong></p><p>“Got x-ray eyes do you?” Tim quipped, and Jon looked vaguely uncomfortable.</p><p>“You had – you had lots of eyes.” Sasha managed to swallow her fear, watching Jon very carefully. “In my dream. A lot of them.”</p><p>Jon seemed even more uncomfortable, his shoulders curling as if he were trying to make himself smaller, before he shrugged.</p><p>“You said before that you were a monster.” Sasha remarked, scrutinising Jon carefully. “Or not human anyway. You look human.”</p><p>Jon seemed at a loss for words at that, his hands clenching and unclenching at the keyboard like he didn’t quite know what to say.</p><p>Walking around to lean against the desk, Tim flicked a finger at the metal gag covering Jon’s mouth, the clanging sound causing Jon to flinch away from him.</p><p>Tim looked apologetic briefly before continuing.</p><p>“So, what’s under this? You’ve got a monster set of chompers or something?”</p><p>Jon shot Tim a vaguely irritated look, before shaking his head.</p><p>Tim frowned, before reaching out again, trying to examine the metal gag.</p><p>Jon tensed dramatically when Tim touched him and seemed to hunch in on himself as if steeling himself for injury.</p><p>Tim tsked at that, frowning at Jon’s reaction, the implications of it all adding kindling to Tim’s protective nature, stoking the flames.</p><p>“I’m just going to check how this thing comes off.” Tim told Jon carefully, deciding that signalling his actions would be the best way to go about this. “I’m going to have to move your hair.”</p><p>Jon seemed to tense further at this, steeling himself, and gave a minute nod.</p><p>Tim undid the messy bun and combed his fingers through Jon’s hair, parting it to see where the gag was locked in place. The metal seemed to hinge in the middle of Jon’s mouth, and thinner strips curved above Jon’s ears, the gag practically moulded to his face. There was a padlock at the back where the two sides of the gag met, locking the gag onto Jon’s face.</p><p>Tim scowled at the lock and tried to pull it off, but the lock stayed firm.</p><p>Forcing himself to sound chipper, Tim joked. “I don’t suppose there’s any bolt cutters in that filing cabinet? Or maybe a key?”</p><p>Jon shook his head.</p><p>Tim mumbled under his breath. “There’s plyers and a scalpel there but oh no, not bolt cutters.”</p><p>“How long has it been on there?” Sasha asked, her brow knitting with concern. “Since January? That’s – that’s months Jon, how are you –“</p><p>“You haven’t eaten since January?” Martin realised, sounding heartbroken for him.</p><p>Jon held his hands up as if to soothe the pitying expression Martin wore, before typing.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I EAT STATEMENTS SO I HAVEN’T –</em> </strong>
</p><p>“He’s been starving you of those too, hasn’t he?” Martin surmised, a frustrated sort of helplessness in his eyes.</p><p>“So let me get this straight.” Tim sounded like he was biting back anger, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk. “You were supposed to be our boss, disappeared before taking the role because our other boss, who is incredibly evil locked you up in here, turned you into some kind of monster slash supercomputer, starved you, made it so you can’t speak or defend yourself and isolated you from anyone with a shred of humanity. Is there anything I’m forgetting?”</p><p>“He’s probably trying to do the same to me.” Sasha looked at Jon dully, her eyes far away.</p><p>“Right. Right.” Tim seemed to be biting back a lot of anger now. “And now he’s up there waiting for us to be eaten by evil worms. Does that about sum it up?”</p><p><strong><em>BECAUSE YOU’VE ALL BEEN BITTEN ALREADY, HE’LL PROBABLY SWITCH THE CO2 ON NOW.</em></strong> Jon typed. <strong><em>WE’RE NOT QUITE ‘BLOODY SWISS CHEESE’ BUT IT WILL BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM.</em></strong></p><p>“Bloody swiss cheese?” Tim exclaimed. “He would wait until –“</p><p>Then Tim noticed the small circular scars covering Jon’s neck and hands, and he swore into his fist.</p><p>“Is Prentiss still out there?” Sasha asked, reaching down to rub her leg anxiously.</p><p>Jon tilted his head to the side, his eyes far away for a moment, watching something. Then all at once there was a scream, loud and shrill from outside of the room. It was piercing in a way that Sasha had never heard before, she felt the death knell for Prentiss in her very bones with that scream. </p><p>When the scream shrivelled away, Jon seemed to come back to himself.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>SHE IS DEAD NOW. AND HER WORMS. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Alright. So we can get out of here, yes?” Tim asked, and Jon gave a pained sort of grimace before typing.</p><p><strong><em>YES. YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO LEAVE NOW ALL THE WORMS ARE DEAD. I – GOOD LUCK. AND STAY SAFE</em></strong>.</p><p>Tim squinted at Jon like he couldn’t quite believe it.</p><p>“You’re coming with us.” Sasha spoke up, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, despite how shocked Jon looked.</p><p>He couldn’t exactly open his mouth to argue, but his eyes had an argument brewing behind them, and he moved to put his hands to the keyboard again, when Sasha held up her hand, speaking sharply.</p><p>“You’re coming with us because you’re the only one who’s got straight answers to give us. You’re the only one who’s actually been trying to help us, and if you think we’re just going to let you stay locked up down here to be Bouchard’s pet supercomputer – firstly you must have a ridiculously low opinion of us and our moral standing –“</p><p>Jon held his hands up in front of him now, shaking his head as if backtracking immediately.</p><p>“And secondly, if you think us leaving you in here will keep us out of danger or whatever stupid self-sacrificing reason you’re thinking of – we’re already in danger. I’d much rather be informed and in danger than going in blind, and you’re the eye guy, so –“</p><p>“We want to help you Jon.” Martin added, his voice oozing sincerity. “We’re not just leaving you here.”</p><p>Jon looked at Martin, then looked down at his feet, as if struggling with the concept that they would want to help him, before his shoulders slumped in defeat.</p><p>“Right, so double checking, there aren’t any worms outside that’ll get us when we leave?” Tim asked, rolling up his sleeves.</p><p>Jon shook his head, typing an answer.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>JUST CORPSES. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Alright, so we leg it then.” Tim nodded, moving his hand to the door handle.</p><p>“Are you going to be alright, running – I can give you my socks if that’s –“ Martin offered, taking in Jon’s bare feet.</p><p>Before Jon could type an answer, Sasha nodded, deciding on his behalf. “Good idea Martin. We’ll also have to figure out a way for Jon to communicate until we get out of the Institute. We can’t exactly bring the computer with us, and somehow I don’t think he’s very good at mime.”</p><p>Jon looked almost affronted then, and Martin pulled out the notebook he kept in his pocket.</p><p>“I don’t have a pen though.”</p><p>Tim turned to the filing cabinets, intending to rifle through them for stationary and instead paused, looking disgusted at the contents inside.</p><p>“Right, do you want the pen or the jar full of eyeballs?”</p><p>Martin paled, looking between the filing cabinet and Jon before stuttering.</p><p>“T-the pen.”</p><p>Tim handed Jon the pen, and Martin passed him the notebook, making sure to turn past the pages with poetry scribbles on them, giving Jon a blank page to write on.</p><p>“Will this work for you?” Tim asked, and Jon nodded. Martin was pulling his socks off and passing them to Jon as well, sliding back into his shoes, and Jon put them on, the socks incredibly roomy on his skinny ankles.</p><p>“Ready to make a break for it?” Sasha asked, steeling herself for their escape.</p><p>Jon nodded, and Tim turned the handle, opening the door into Artefact Storage.</p><p>It was thankfully empty in the warehouse, as it had been when they ran in. The coffee table was still there, and each of them took great care not to look at it. There were worm carcasses near the door, a few having managed to sneak into the warehouse, and they were hastily crushed underfoot.</p><p>They reached the exit without incident, the large rolling door unlocking from the inside.</p><p>Martin and Sasha tugged it open, the door rolling slowly until light from the corridor outside shone into the warehouse, highlighting the silhouette of two large and imposing figures waiting for them.</p><p>They wore uniforms indicating they were security guards at the Institute, but there was a feral sort of glint in their eyes, their postures radiating danger, their stillness much like a wolf waiting out their prey, tightly wound and ready to snap at any second.</p><p>“You taking the boss’s Archivist?” One of them growled, flexing their hands as if they had claws.</p><p>“Can’t let you do that.” The other finished, taking a step forward.</p><p>Jon took a step back, reaching his hands out in front of him warily.</p><p>Tim clenched his hands into careful fists. There was something about the two of them that sent a chill down the back of his neck, he just knew that if he tried to fight them, it would end badly. Especially injured as he was.</p><p>But neither of them so much as glanced at Tim, their eyes keenly focused on Jon as though he posed the greater threat.</p><p>“Can’t do much to stop us without your pretty voice, Archivist.” One of them remarked, their shoulders hunching forward, their hands now looking more like actual claws.</p><p>“Could try and run though.” The other added with a smile, showing far more teeth than humans were meant to have. “We do like a good chase.”</p><p>“That we do.” The first guard confirmed, Jon’s eyes flitting between them as though weighing up his options. “Go on then, we’ll even give you a head start.”</p><p>Jon looked at the archival staff, seeming to say something to them with his eyes. In the dark it was hard to see it, but Sasha got the distinct impression Jon had something planned.</p><p>Sasha grabbed Martin’s wrist at that, and the back of Tim’s shirt, leveling a look back at Jon that he picked up on immediately.</p><p>He stumbled backwards then, as if trying to get away from the guards, staggering back down the aisle until the light from the doorway no longer reached him.</p><p>The guards were growling now, feral animalistic sounds, their excitement building. All at once they leapt, moving faster than should have been humanly possible, ignoring the other archival assistants and lunging straight for Jon.</p><p>It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like Jon threw something at them from one of the shelves, then all at once the air was filled with agonised howling.</p><p>Jon ran back out the aisle, tugging on Sasha’s sleeve to get her to follow quickly through the warehouse doors.</p><p>One of the guards staggered out from the aisle, covered by a strange spiralling pattern that seemed to be crowding him. He swiped his claws at it, but it continued to overtake the man, incapacitating him until he fell to the floor, clawing gashes in his own skin as if he could dig the pattern out of him.</p><p>The trio threw one last fearful glance at the spectacle before running down the corridors after Jon.</p><p>There were worm corpses all over the institute, crunching unpleasantly underfoot. Tim was the fastest runner, and seemed to be making a beeline for the front exit, when Jon abruptly stopped in his tracks.</p><p>Sasha called out to Tim. “Wait, Tim. Jon?”</p><p>She was watching Jon’s expression, a distant creeping horror dancing in his eyes. He reached out and grabbed Sasha’s arm, tugging her the other way, gesturing to the others to follow him.</p><p>Sasha didn’t know what it was that was waiting for them in the lobby, but judging from Jon’s panicked expression, she didn’t want to find out. He didn't look this scared when the security guards showed up, and they were terrible, so Sasha had to deduce that whatever was waiting for them in the lobby was worse. </p><p>“You want us to go this way? But there isn’t an exit there.” Sasha puzzled, and Jon fumbled with the notebook and pen, scribbling in nearly illegible handwriting.</p><p>
  <em>TUNNELS </em>
</p><p>“We can get out that way?” Sasha pressed, and Jon nodded, tugging persistently on her sleeve.</p><p>Sasha could hear the clink of dress shoes on the tile floor now, whoever was waiting for them in the lobby coming down the corridor.</p><p>Jon’s tugging became more frantic, and rather than waiting to see who it was, Sasha simply nodded, and gestured for the others to follow Jon, taking off down the corridors towards the tunnels Jon mentioned.</p><p>As they turned the corner, Elias Bouchard entered from the lobby, Peter Lukas standing beside him looking rather amused.</p><p>“Looks like they’re taking your Archivist, Elias.” He pointed out jovially. “Are you really just going to let them get away with that?”</p><p>“While I’ll admit it’s not ideal.” Elias sighed, scowling down the end of the corridor. “I’m certain it can be turned to my advantage.”</p><p>“Not going to chase after him then, are you?” Peter quirked a brow, his beard twitching to hide his smile. “I’ll admit I was quite looking forward to seeing you run.”</p><p>“Keep dreaming Peter.” Elias scoffed, fussing with his cufflinks briefly. “No, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, so to speak. This little excursion could prove beneficial. Jon’s little pique of stubbornness has been quite difficult to contend with, but I’m certain with the right leverage we’ll find him quite malleable.”</p><p>Peter looked at Elias, taking in the self-satisfied smugness that was so categorically him. Rather than looking put out, Elias looked like the cat who got the cream when he stared down the now empty corridor, a smile hinting at his lips.</p><p>“Jon’s self-sacrificing streak was harder to manoeuvre when he had no one to sacrifice himself for. No, I think this will do quite nicely.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh fuck, there’s worms in this tunnel.”</p><p>Tim blasted the worms with one of the fire extinguishers he managed to snag from the Archives, Martin’s phone light held up high so he could see what he was doing.</p><p>“They’re faster than the ones upstairs. Oh hell, there’s another one. Ring of worms, ring of worms!”</p><p>The extinguisher sprayed loudly, knocking the leaping worms out of the air before they could land. The worms shrivelled up, their bodies carpeting the ground in the tunnels. Tim emptied an entire extinguisher on them, until the winding ring of worms stilled and left only sodden ground behind. </p><p>“Thought they all died with Prentiss, but there’s just more of these little suckers. Couldn’t have told us there were bloody worms in the tunnels, could you?” Tim muttered, as he gave the dead worms one more perfunctory spray.</p><p>Jon’s brows pinched together before he scribbled something down on Martin’s notebook, holding it out for Tim to read.</p><p>
  <em>I FORGOT. </em>
</p><p>“You forgot?” Tim scoffed. “All knowing’s no good if you forget is it? We could have been worm food. We could have been… oh I don’t know – compost!”</p><p>Jon huffed and scribbled in the notebook again.</p><p><em>I CAN’T SEE IN THE TUNNELS</em>.</p><p>“That’s what the flashlights are for.” Tim laughed, enjoying the way Jon’s communication efforts seemed to only frustrate him. Jon started scribbling again.</p><p><em>ELIAS CAN’T <span class="u">SEE</span> IN THE TUNNELS EITHER</em>. He then underlined the word ‘see’ heavily.</p><p>“Alright, alright. So, there’s no spooky knowledge reception in the tunnels.” Tim surmised. “It’s a spooky wifi dead zone.”</p><p>Jon rubbed his forehead, clearly irritated by Tim’s joking. Tim took it as a sign of endearment.</p><p>“So, Elias can see things too?” Sasha clarified, walking backwards to better watch Jon’s expressive face.</p><p>Jon nodded.</p><p>“So why does he even need an all-seeing Archivist if he can do the same thing himself?”</p><p>Jon set to scribbling again, flipping the page.</p><p><em>HIS POWERS ARE FINITE. CAN ONLY SEE ONE THING AT A TIME, THOUGH HE CAN DIRECT HIS GAZE ANYWHERE</em>.</p><p>“Except the tunnels.” Sasha confirmed, and Jon nodded again.</p><p>“So, he’s outsourcing.” Tim quipped, spraying the path in front of them as they continued to walk.</p><p>“Will he be able to see us when we’re out of the tunnels then?” Sasha asked, planning ahead.</p><p>Jon hesitated, the concept clearly disturbing him. After a while he nodded.</p><p>“Right.” Sasha chewed her bottom lip, puzzling that particular conundrum. “We’ll just have to make it so he can see, but he can’t do anything about it. If we make it so he can’t touch you –“</p><p>“We could go to the police?” Martin suggested. “There’s got to be evidence enough to put him away. I mean, he kidnapped Jon. There’s probably fingerprints, or something like that we can use against him.”</p><p>“The prison cell in Artefact Storage probably counts.” Tim remarked, kicking worm corpses out of their way to clear a path. “Can’t exactly hide a spooky torture dungeon.”</p><p>“Everything in Artefact Storage is creepy though.” Sasha remarked. “Given the amount of spooky crap that gets explained away here somehow I doubt that a kidnapping charge would be enough to put him away for good.”</p><p>“Well, if there’s a missing person’s report maybe there’s a precedence they can follow up on. Jon, do you know if anyone reported you missing?” Martin asked hopefully, looking to Jon.</p><p>Jon hesitated before shaking his head, and the hopeful expression fell abruptly off Martin’s face.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Before any more pity could percolate, Sasha said decisively. “We’ll report it then. When we get out of here, we’ll go straight to the police.”</p><p>Jon scribbled something down on the notebook and held it out to Sasha.</p><p><em>SECTION 31</em>.</p><p>“What does that mean?” Sasha asked bluntly.</p><p>Jon was running out of space on the page, his messy handwriting becoming small and cramped at the bottom of the page. There were two free pages left in the book, assuming Jon would only write on the empty pages. He seemed reluctant to write over Martin’s poetry.</p><p><em>BASIRA HUSSAIN</em>. Jon wrote. <em>SHE’S SECTION 31. NORMAL POLICE DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING TO DO WITH MAGNUS INSTITUTE</em>.</p><p>Jon seemed to hesitate then, before pointing at one of the forks in the tunnel, to indicate Tim change their route.</p><p>
  <em>CHARGES WON’T STICK TO ELIAS FOR ME. TOO INHUMAN TO BOTHER PROTECTING. </em>
</p><p>Martin made a disgruntled sound at that, reading over Jon’s shoulder, but Jon continued to write.</p><p>
  <em>UP AHEAD THERE’S SOMETHING HE CAN BE PROSECUTED FOR.</em>
</p><p>“Oh-kay.” Tim said nervously. “Got a heads up for us there, little guy? Would be nice to know exactly what sort of crime scene we’re walking in on.”</p><p>Despite the twitch of annoyance at Tim’s word choice (something that Tim definitely grinned at – better to annoy the guy into a reaction than leave him to stew in his thoughts) Jon started scribbling again in the notebook, pausing as the ink began to run dry.</p><p>He scribbled again, trying to get the ink running, then looked over to the others.</p><p>“Pen’s run dry then?” Sasha observed aloud for Jon’s benefit. “Anyone got another one?”</p><p>“Sorry, I was a little too preoccupied with the <em>jar full of eyeballs</em> to pick up a spare.” Tim quipped as he held his own phone light out, Martin’s own light swinging back to Jon on the regular, giving him enough light to write with.</p><p>“Can you text? Maybe you can use Martin’s phone.” Sasha suggested practically.</p><p>“Oh, sure thing. I’ll just –“ Martin turned off his phone light and passed his phone to Jon, however the instant it was in Jon’s hands the screen lit up with a low battery warning and the phone promptly turned off.</p><p>Jon stared at the phone in dumb shock.</p><p>“That’s weird, I had 40% battery just a second ago.” Martin fretted, taking the phone back from Jon, trying to turn it on again.</p><p>“It’s like the universe doesn’t want to let you tell us what’s going on.” Tim joked, and Jon rubbed his forehead, looking more tired than ever.</p><p>“I’d lend you my phone, but if it throws a fit we’ll be stuck down here with no light.” Tim added.</p><p>“Oh – managed to get it on again.” Martin declared as his phone booted up once more. “See, 38% battery. Here, try agai –“</p><p>When Martin passed the phone to Jon again, the screen turned black, shutting down the instant was in Jon’s hand. Jon stared at it, his expression stony for a second before he shoved it back in Martin’s hand.</p><p>“That’s odd.” Sasha observed. “Maybe it’s like how some statements can’t record on modern devices. You do eat statements, so maybe there’s some crossover.”</p><p>“But Jon could use the computer down in the warehouse?” Martin posited.</p><p>“Maybe it was a spooky computer.” Tim shrugged, shining his torch down the tunnel ahead. “Spooky computer from Artefact Storage.”</p><p>Jon sighed, the air exhaled through his nose as if Jon were the most long suffering person on earth. Tim almost thought to make a joke about it, if not for his suspicions that given all the scars on his body, Jon probably was.</p><p>Deciding to distract Jon, Tim reached forward and ruffled his hair, Jon swatting him away ineffectually.</p><p>“Cheer up little guy, we’ll find a way around it.”</p><p>Jon glared at Tim, and Tim laughed out loud. Silent as he was, Jon’s glaring without words seemed as effective as the glare of a particularly pissed off house cat.</p><p>Rather than continue to be stymied by technology, Jon reached out and grabbed Martin’s hand.</p><p>“Oh – I – uh – alright?” Martin stammered, a little thrown aback by the sudden bout of hand holding, but when Jon spread Martin’s palm out flat and brought the empty pen up, catching Martin’s eye meaningfully, Jon’s plan became apparent.</p><p>“Oh, I see. I think Jon’s going to try to – would you be spelling it out – yes, spell out words on my hand and I can read them aloud to you.” Martin surmised, and Jon nodded approvingly.</p><p>“A heads up on what we’re walking into would be nice.” Tim requested, privately noting that Jon grabbed Martin’s hand instead of his own, despite being closer at the time. He practically lunged to grab Martin’s hand specifically.</p><p>Jon then started to write on Martin’s palm, spelling out each letter.</p><p>“G, uh, E, I think that’s an R, T, oh, another R, maybe a U or a V?”</p><p>“Gertrude?” Sasha guessed, right on the money. “Gertrude Robinson?”</p><p>“The Gertrude Robinson you said Elias murdered?” Tim raised his eyebrow. “We’re not walking in on her body, are we?”</p><p>When Jon only looked solemnly forward, Tim swore.</p><p>“Christ, alright then. That’s definitely evidence enough.”</p><p>“So we direct the police here. They find Gertrude’s body, they start investigating Elias for murder.” Sasha summarised.</p><p>When they reached a door at the end of the corridor, Tim gingerly pushed it open and inside the room there sat Gertrude Robinson, on a wooden chair surrounded by dusty cardboard boxes filled with tapes. There were no worm corpses in here, no cobwebs either, just the old Archivist, her mouth hanging open, dried blood soiling her blouse from the three gunshot wounds in her chest.</p><p>Tim took photos on his phone to show to the police. They touched nothing, despite Jon eyeing off several of the tapes with apparent interest. Afterwards Jon led them successfully out of the tunnels into the city somewhere near Pall Mall.</p><p>When the exited the tunnels, no one was waiting for them, but Sasha still couldn’t shake the feeling that the only reason Elias didn’t send anyone after them was that he knew exactly where they were.</p><p>She knew he was watching. She could feel it in the prickle on the back of her neck.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The police didn’t quite know what to do with Jon. After scrambling around the department to find someone sectioned who could handle a statement about the Institute, and despite the clear photographic evidence that a murder had been committed, they still didn’t quite know how to process a kidnapping where the victim had been deprived of food for months, a metal gag literally welded onto his face, and survived.</p><p>They dusted the mask for prints and found two pairs of prints in addition to Jon’s own and Tim’s. Jon sat still for the team gathering forensic evidence, but it was clear in the tension he carried in his shoulders that being touched by the investigators was something he was trying hard to endure.</p><p>The computers had glitched around him, when the forensics team tried to take photos and log his details, to the point where the police had to take down his details on paper and transcribe them after he left the room. The glitches and static Jon seemed to engender unnerved the station’s staff, and made them that much more eager for the sectioned officers to arrive and take the whole case off their hands. There was clearly something supernatural going on, and even the most hardened sceptic in the station gave Jon a wide berth.  </p><p>Tim, Sasha and Martin had each been questioned individually, their stories, however unlikely, all matching up, and now they were just waiting for the police to let them know what was to be done.</p><p>All four of them sat in what seemed to be an interrogation room, the mirrored walls reminding them of Jon’s former prison cell. Each of them watched Jon cautiously looking for signs of distress, but he just sat, still, small and contained, staring at the table in front of him.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Martin asked Jon tentatively, ducking down to catch Jon’s eye.</p><p>He met Martin’s briefly, before giving an odd shrug, picking at the hem of his cardigan like it was the most fascinating thing in the room.</p><p>Tim sat on one of the fold out chairs to Jon’s left, his arms crossed and his legs stretched out in front of him, indignant on Jon’s behalf.</p><p>“They haven’t even taken your statement – I mean, I know the glitches are hard to contend with but a pen and paper isn’t too much to ask.”</p><p>“Do you get the feeling they’re waiting for something?” Sasha asked, her folding chair sat next to Tim’s, looking at each of the mirrored walls in the room in turn.</p><p>“For me to literally combust from boredom?” Tim joked, not taking the wait well.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure they didn’t put us in here just to watch you tap a hole in the floor with your foot Tim.” Sasha remarked, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “I don’t know. I mean, we came here to report a crime. Why do I get the feeling that they’re treating us like criminals?”</p><p>“You don’t think Elias has –“ Tim started, but at the very mention of Elias’s name Jon’s shoulders tensed up, Tim decided to drop it.</p><p>“I hope not.” Sasha exhaled a large sigh. “I imagine we’d know if he did. Can’t exactly poke his smug face in here to give us hell when he’s being investigated for murder and kidnapping.”</p><p>Jon reached over for Martin’s hand again, and Martin quickly complied, holding out his palm, but Jon merely pretended to scribble on it.</p><p>“Oh, the notebook?” Martin assumed, guessing right by the looks of Jon’s pleased nod. Martin was getting very good at guessing what Jon meant to say, perhaps that was just because he seemed to be paying quite a bit of attention to the smaller man.</p><p>He passed Jon the notebook from his pocket and Jon flipped the pages over until it landed on the notes he made in the tunnel. He held the notebook out to the trio, tapping two sentences.</p><p>
  <em>SECTION 31. </em>
</p><p><em>BASIRA HUSSAIN</em>.</p><p>The door opened abruptly then, and two police officers entered the room, one of them a shorter woman wearing a pale green hijab, carrying a clipboard and pen, and the other a taller woman with closely cropped strawberry blonde hair.</p><p>The woman with the hijab sat at the chair on the opposite side of the interrogation table, and the blonde woman stood behind her, her arms crossed, glaring at Jon with thinly veiled suspicion, watching him as one might watch a rabid dog.</p><p>“Sorry for the wait. I’m Constable Bas –“ Her words trailed off as she noticed her name on the page in Jon’s hands. She set the clipboard down on the table with a crisp click, and sat back in her chair surveying them.</p><p>“Constable Basira Hussain.” She finished, her voice clipped and no nonsense. “You already seem to know that. Any point me asking how?”</p><p>“Ask the little one.” The officer standing behind her all but growled, sounding as if she already suspected the answer.</p><p>Sasha and Tim exchanged glances, uncertain why the officers were showing such direct hostility.</p><p>Leaning forward Sasha gestured. “Jon can’t talk. I – look, maybe if you give him your pen. We’ve seen about six different officers and so far nobody’s bothered to. It’s obvious he can’t talk. He – he’s been through a lot so –“</p><p>“You’re the kidnapping victim.” Basira said matter of factly. “I’ve already read the forensics report. Looks like that thing was welded on for the past four months. You want to tell me how you managed to survive for four months with no discernible way to take food or water? Doesn’t really add up, if you ask me.”</p><p>“It’s not his fault he was –“ Sasha started, surprising herself that she was just as indignant on Jon’s behalf as Tim was.</p><p>Jon didn’t seem phased by Basira’s questioning, setting down Martin’s notebook on the table. Tentatively as if trying not to spook the officers, he reached his hand out across the table, miming writing with a pen.</p><p>Basira seemed to take a deep breath, looking back at her partner briefly, before passing the pen across the table.</p><p>“You got something to write on?” She asked, looking at the small pages of Martin’s notebook. Sliding the back of one of the forms across the table at him, Basira nodded. “Here.”</p><p>Taking the paper and pen, Jon seemed to hesitate before writing.</p><p><em>NOT HUMAN ANYMORE</em>. His eyes flitted nervously to the blonde officer, before adding. <em>DAISY ALREADY KNOWS</em>.</p><p>Basira seemed surprised, reading that, her dark almond eyes widening, before looking back to her partner in askance.</p><p>“Have you two met before? Daisy, he –“</p><p>“Knows your name. He knows my name. I imagine there’s not a lot he doesn’t know.” Daisy huffed a disapproving sigh. “Shame they brought him into the station. His kind don’t make it here, normally. I would have preferred it that way.”</p><p>“What the hell are you trying to say?” Tim leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as though ready to fling an arm in front of Jon at any moment.</p><p>“I’m saying your friend is a monster.” Daisy sneered. “Wouldn’t bother defending him, if I were you. He’s not worth it. He’ll only drag you into danger.”</p><p>“Jon saved our lives.” Martin argued, surprisingly vehement speaking back to the police. “He’s only ever told us the truth and wanted to look out for us. He – he’s worth defending the same as any citizen and he’s been through something really traumatic so unless you’ve –“</p><p>“Hold on. You don’t seem surprised that your friend is a monster.” Basira interjected, holding her hand up to cut Martin off.</p><p>“No, because he told us.” Sasha sighed, her brow pinched. “Jon’s been upfront about what’s been going on since the beginning, it was literally one of the first things he told us. We’ve seen monsters. The Institute was just attacked by a flesh eating worm woman, and we’re pretty sure our boss is evil. He’s the one who had Jon locked up in the warehouse. Jon’s a victim, not a monster, and it would be nice if the police stopped treating him like one and see the situation for what it really is.”</p><p>“Which is?” Basira asked, raising one eyebrow.</p><p>“A fucked-up situation.” Tim answered. “With more than one kind of monster. There are tonnes of them, apparently. From evil bosses, to freaky circus performers to disgusting evil worm ladies. Personally I’ll take a tiny know-it-all drowning in a cardigan over the others any day.”</p><p>Jon looked mildly annoyed by Tim’s wording, but his shoulders relaxed quite a bit, and that was enough to tell Basira that the archive team were telling the truth.</p><p>She laughed and shook her head.</p><p>“Alright. When you put it that way, I see your point. Plus, it’s kind of hard to believe he can really be that dangerous.”</p><p>“Looks can be deceiving.” Daisy added, still not taking her eyes off Jon.</p><p>“Well he looks like the kind of kid who get’s beaten up for his lunch money, if that kid was also a 40 year old librarian, so maybe we cut him some slack, yeah?”</p><p>Daisy seemed to wrestle with that, her lip twisting until, under the weight of Basira’s stare, she backed down.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>Jon wrote something down on the paper and turned it around.</p><p><em>I’M 29 ACTUALLY</em>.</p><p>“You’re my age?” Martin exclaimed.</p><p>“Wouldn’t have taken you for a spring chicken.” Tim quipped. “Though I suppose if anything can prematurely age you, it’s the tender mercies of Elias Bouchard.”</p><p>“He’s the one who kidnapped you?” Basira asked, looking at Jon.</p><p>Jon nodded.</p><p>“And is he responsible for –“ Basira nodded at Jon’s burn mark on his right hand, and the various other scars dotting the visible skin. “All the scars?”</p><p>Jon seemed to hesitate, before nodding as well.</p><p>“They’ve healed fairly well to have happened in four months.” Basira noted, and Jon started to write again.</p><p>
  <em>HAPPENED OVER THE COURSE OF TWO YEARS. ONLY SOME ARE RECENT. </em>
</p><p>“You were only missing for four months though. By all accounts, last year you didn’t have these.” Basira noted. “There are facebook photos from last year without any of the scars.”</p><p>“You have a facebook?” Tim laughed, as though delighted.</p><p><em>BETWEEN 2015 TO 2018 I GOT THEM. ELIAS IS PARTLY RESPONSIBLE</em>.</p><p>“2018?” Basira said flatly, looking at the page in askance. “Right, so what is this? Time travel? If you want me to believe you, you’re stretching the believability a little thin right now. Can you prove it?”</p><p>Jon hesitated, before writing again.</p><p>
  <em>YOUR FIRST SECTION 31 WAS AUGUST 2011 ARRESTING DIEGO MOLINA FOR ARSON. SECOND WAS A SUICIDE IN KENSINGTON 2014. THIS WOULD BE YOUR THIRD AND YOUR FOURTH WOULD BE 10<sup>TH</sup> FEBRUARY 2017 INVESTIGATING THE KIDNAPPING OF CALLUM BRODIE AND ATTEMPTED ARREST OF MAXWELL RAYNER OF THE PEOPLE’S CHURCH OF THE DIVINE HOST. </em>
</p><p>“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Basira said bluntly. “The others do, but that’s because they’ve already happened. Doesn’t seem like it’s proof enough for me to believe you.”  </p><p>“It does seem unlikely, but Jon knew bad things that were going to happen to us before they actually happened. He’s been trying to warn us all this time. I know it’s a bit farfetched, but he does seem to want to help us.” Sasha explained.</p><p>“Was he warning you, or did he orchestrate the bad things so you’d believe him?” Daisy asked sharply.</p><p>“That’s not what he’s doing.” Sasha said with surety.</p><p>“How do you know?” Daisy pressed, and Sasha searched herself for the answer, coming up with.</p><p>“I just do.”</p><p>Jon shot her a concerned look, before he began to write again.</p><p><em>YOU KNOW BECAUSE ELIAS MADE YOU HEAD ARCHIVIST</em>.</p><p>“I don’t think a job title counts as an explanation –“ Basira started, but Jon continued writing.</p><p>
  <em>YOU CAN’T BECOME THE ARCHIVIST WHILE I’M STILL ALIVE AND HAVE THE ARCHIVE BUT BECAUSE OF THE ROLE YOU’LL BE FAVOURED WITH POWERS. PIECES OF INFORMATION WILL JUST COME TO YOU. YOU’LL MAKE ACCURATE LEAPS WITHOUT SUFFICIENT EVIDENCE TO CONNECT YOUR THOUGHT PROCESS. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>ELIAS WAS GROOMING YOU TO REPLACE ME SO WHILE IT’S NOT THE SAME AS WHAT I HAVE I WOULDN’T BE SURPRISED IF PEOPLE VOLUNTEER INFORMATION AROUND YOU, OR IF IT SEEMS EASIER FOR STRANGERS TO OPEN UP TO YOU. YOU MIGHT EVEN BE ABLE TO COMPEL PEOPLE TO ANSWER OR FORCE STORIES FROM PEOPLE THE MORE YOU BECOME LIKE ME. </em>
</p><p>Sasha felt dizzy reading this, but there was a part of her at her core that knew that nothing Jon had written down was a lie. Her mind identified it as accurate despite how much she wanted it not to be, and that inner conflict caused her to feel decidedly ill.</p><p>“Oh. Great.” Sasha said, clearly meaning the opposite.</p><p>“So, what are you saying? Bouchard can … make monsters out of whoever takes the Head Archivist role?” Basira guessed, looking perturbed.</p><p>“What is the Archivist?” Daisy asked.</p><p><em>I AM THE ARCHIVIST</em>. Jon answered, and the words on the page seemed to ring with accuracy in Sasha’s head. It just felt right, seeing Jon write those words on paper, despite how anxious Sasha felt that Elias was trying to make her into exactly the same thing.</p><p>“What does that mean though?” Daisy pressed, sounding frustrated.</p><p>Jon started to write more, but the moment he pressed pen to paper, his hand seized up and he dropped the pen, cradling his hand to his chest and hissing in pain.</p><p>The others looked on in concern as Jon rubbed his thumb over the palm of his right hand, only Martin seeing from his close vantage point small black strands being squashed back into Jon’s palm. They looked like hairs almost, but by the time Jon stopped rubbing his hand they were gone.</p><p>He gave the officers an apologetic look before reaching for the pen again.</p><p><em>SORRY. SOME THINGS I CAN’T WRITE DOWN</em>.</p><p>“Would you be able to say it, when that thing comes off?” Basira nodded to the metal gag.</p><p>Jon shrugged helpfully.</p><p>“What’s the Archive then?” Daisy asked. “Can you explain that?”</p><p><em>THE ARCHIVE IS A LIVING CHRONICLE OF FEAR. </em>Jon wrote.<em> THE RECORDED EXPERIENCE OF TERROR AMASSED BY THE INSTITUTE AND HELD BY THE ARCHIVIST. THE ARCHIVE IS –</em></p><p>Jon’s hand started shaking here, but he tried his best to press on, his words becoming messy and more illegible the harder his hand began to shake. The only words Basira was able to make out were:</p><p>
  <em>POWER … WATCHER AND WATCHED… REDIRECT… RESHAPE… THE EYE.</em>
</p><p>Eventually Jon had to throw down the pen, pressing his thumb down into his palm heavily, trying to still the shaking.</p><p>“Great. Not much an all-knowing witness can do against a supernatural gag order.” Basira muttered, pushing back from the table and rolling her shoulders. “Would have probably been useful, consulting you, if we could actually get an answer.”</p><p>“He’s not a search engine.” Martin spoke up, surprisingly vehement again. “It was bad enough he was treated like one before. It’s obvious he’s doing his best.”</p><p>“I never said he wasn’t.” Basira argued. “It’s just convenient, that’s all, that all the questions we actually want the answer to are the ones he suddenly cramps up for. If we could get that thing off him, maybe we’d actually be getting somewhere.”</p><p>“I’d keep that thing muzzled if I were you.” Daisy added ominously, still glaring at Jon.</p><p>When the other occupants in the room stared at her irately, she simply shrugged.</p><p>“He’s only a helpless pet monster so long as he keeps his mouth shut. If you don’t want to be compelled or whatever else he can do, you’ll keep it that way.”</p><p>Several people then began to speak at once, angrily contesting Daisy.</p><p>“Jon’s not a – a dog! You -”</p><p>“The bloke hasn’t eaten for four months, you seriously think –“</p><p>“I honestly can’t believe – this is verging on police brutality? Really?”</p><p>Daisy seemed unphased by their vehemence, and eventually Tim snapped.</p><p>“Look, can we go? We haven’t done anything wrong. We’ve told you where Gertrude’s body is, we’ve told you who did it, and we’ve told you what happened to Jon. If you’ve got what you need to – to file your paperwork or whatever, then kindly fuck off, or allow us to.”</p><p>“Maybe we keep you here? Charge you with obstructing justice and swearing at a police officer?” Daisy challenged, raising an eyebrow at Tim gamely until Basira reached up and touched her arm.</p><p>“Daisy, let it go.”</p><p>At Basira’s urging, Daisy relented, gritting her teeth.</p><p>“Fine. But if I hear this one causing even a lick of trouble, you’ll hear from me.”</p><p>“Come on Jon.” Martin stood up, alongside Tim and Sasha, the trio bracketing Jon like a human shield ushering him out the door.</p><p>Jon looked at the officers as he left, trying to convey something with his eyes to Basira, glancing at Daisy every so often, before leaving, the door closing behind them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim’s apartment was their next destination. Tim argued that his shower was nicer (which Sasha knew for a fact) and that Jon had been stuck in a tiny room with only a sink to wash in for four months, so a decent shower seemed long overdue.</p><p>Tim also argued that he had an excellent fold out bed and a blow up air mattress, and Sasha had to ask why he had so many surfaces to sleep on, but managed to withhold her question, as she had a feeling she already knew the answer, and her knowledge had nothing to do with spooky Archivist machinations and everything to do with how much Tim bragged about his personal life in the office break room.</p><p>“I’m also pretty sure I have bolt cutters lying around somewhere.” Tim added, sealing the deal.</p><p>“Why <em>do</em> you have bolt cutters?” Sasha had to ask, quirking her brow at Tim.</p><p>“They were Danny’s.” Tim answered simply. “An essential tool of the trade for an urban exploration enthusiast. He used them all the time.”</p><p>Rather than argue the dubious legality inherent in that sentence, the group set out to Tim’s apartment, Martin joining them as it was reasoned they’d all be safer together than if they split up and Elias picked them off one by one.</p><p>Tim continued to extol the merits of his apartment when they arrived as well.</p><p>“See, a security compound. He can’t get through the gates without a pass, and he can’t get in the elevator without one either. And its not like we’re going to buzz him up.”</p><p>“Alright, we get it. Your place is Fort Knox!”</p><p>“Why would we <em>buzz him up</em> anyway?” Martin asked incredulously.</p><p>“He could be delivering a pizza.” Tim laughed, letting them through the door.</p><p>Sasha came in and plopped down on the couch, examining the healing cut on her leg while Martin and Jon surveyed the apartment. Of course, it was the first time they’d been here, but Sasha felt a little self-conscious at how quickly she made herself at home.</p><p>“The houseplants are a surprise.” Martin noted affably.</p><p>“What’s the surprising part?” Tim called out over his shoulder, already digging through the cupboards, looking for the bolt cutters.</p><p>“That you’ve kept them all alive.”</p><p>Tim laughed, delighted by Martin’s dry sass, and continued to rifle through the cupboards.</p><p>Sasha watched Jon, who seemed to be drawn to the books lining the shelves, his eyes combing through the titles as if searching for something satisfying to read.</p><p><em>Something he hadn’t read before.</em> Sasha thought suddenly. <em>He doesn’t like to read the same thing twice. </em></p><p>Jon picked a book, and Sasha flopped back on the couch, carding her hands through her hair. There was another incidence, she just knew that. Seeking to confirm her hypothesis Sasha asked.</p><p>“Have you read that before Jon?”</p><p>Jon shook his head, already turning the first page, digging into the novel like a hungry person would a meal.</p><p>“Do you ever read the same thing twice?” Sasha pressed, and Jon shook his head again, although it seemed he was only half listening to her, drifting over to a stool by the breakfast bar, engrossed.</p><p>“Got it!” Tim called out triumphantly, brandishing the heavy-duty bolt cutters aloft.</p><p>Jon didn’t look up or react at all, even when Tim bounced over to the breakfast bar, plonking the bolt cutters on the counter beside him.</p><p>“Are you ready?” Tim asked, but Jon was completely nonresponsive, only moving to turn the next page.</p><p>“Uh, Jon?” Martin asked, walking around the other side of the breakfast bar to try and look him in the eye. “Jon?”</p><p>Jon was practically a statue, stock still but for his hand turning page after page. His eyes scanned over the text, devouring every word.</p><p>“Oh.” Tim said, as if hit by an epiphany. “He must be hungry.”</p><p>Martin looked at Tim in askance before comprehension hit.</p><p>“Just a bit of word salad.” Tim added with an eyebrow waggle.</p><p>“That was awful.” Martin said, fond exasperation colouring his tone.</p><p>“Should I start? Or wait for him to finish?” Tim asked, bending down to make eye contact. “Jon?”</p><p>“His eyes are green.” Martin observed curiously.</p><p>When Tim looked over to him, a teasing grin already splitting his face, Martin cut him off.</p><p>“Oh not like that. Leave off. They were brown before. Now they’re kind of – I don’t want to say glowing?”</p><p>“Poetic.” Tim waggled his eyebrows.</p><p>Martin huffed exasperation and turned around, looking for kettle. “I’m making a tea.”</p><p>“How long is the book?” Sasha asked from over by the couch.</p><p>“Uh oh.” Tim ducked his head to look at the title. “We might be here for a while. He’s got <em>Poor Fellow My Country</em>. It’s about twice as long as War and Peace.”</p><p>“Do we – can we stop him?” Sasha asked, sitting up and twisting to face them.</p><p>Tim tried to wave a hand in front of the page, in front of Jon’s eyes, he even tried taking the book from him, but Jon had the novel in one hell of a death grip.</p><p>“I’m going to have to poke him.” Tim warned.</p><p>“Don’t –“ Martin turned back to them, a mug in each hand. “I – it looks like he doesn’t like … being touched.”</p><p>“Well we’ve got to try something.” Tim insisted.</p><p>Sasha got up from the couch and walked over to watch as Tim gently poked Jon’s shoulder.</p><p>“Jon? Hey Jonny boy? Jonathan Sims? Nothing, look.” Tim started poking Jon’s forehead now with no response, despite Martin’s concerned noises in the background, Jon’s trance deeper than simple annoyance could shake.</p><p>“Hey little guy!” Tim shouted in Jon’s ear, and the Archivist didn’t even flinch. “I can’t believe he didn’t hear that. He hates when I call him that.”</p><p>Sasha frowned, examining Jon’s trance, confirming Martin’s observation that yes, his eyes were glowing a somewhat exceptional neon green while he read.</p><p>“Do you think I should shake him?” Tim guessed, scratching the back of his head.</p><p>“I think –“ Sasha began, the idea coming to her and feeling right, in the way that most of the things she <em>knew</em> were correct.</p><p>Reaching her hands forward, Sasha stepped behind Jon and covered his eyes with her hands.</p><p>Jon made a noise at that, which startled almost everyone in the room. It seemed he was shouting loud enough to be heard behind the mask, a frightened scream that had him drop the book and immediately claw at Sasha’s hands, trying desperately to see.</p><p>When Jon dropped the book Tim snatched it and slammed it shut, and Sasha pulled her hands away.</p><p>“Jon! Jon, it’s alright. I – sorry, I just covered your eyes for a second. You – you were in a trance. We couldn’t snap you out of it. I –“</p><p>Jon still seemed visibly panicked, hyperventilating behind the mask. This was the closest they’d seen to a trauma response from Jon so far, who had to be utterly crawling with trauma after all he’d been through, but having his eyes covered evoked the greatest response.</p><p>He flung a hand out in front of him, grabbing Martin’s arm desperately and Martin put down the mugs he was holding, immediately stepping closer.</p><p>“Oh – I – okay. I – just breathe.” Martin soothed, allowing Jon to grip onto his arm with both hands until the smaller man had practically dragged Martin’s hand to his forehead, shuddering through the aftermath of his panic attack like Martin was the only thing that could calm him.</p><p>Martin didn’t reach out to touch him, getting the feeling that it would be too much right now, but just stayed still, letting Jon grip onto his forearm desperately, whispering soothing words.</p><p>“It’s okay, you’re fine. Everyone is okay. Just breathe Jon. You’re alright.”</p><p>Sasha and Tim exchanged a worried glance, as Martin slowly brought Jon back to himself until he was present enough to shakily exhale the tension away and sheepishly release Martin’s arm, looking somewhat embarrassed by the outburst.</p><p>“Sorry.” Sasha said again, feeling wretched. “It’s just, you were reading and none of us could snap you out of it. We – uh – Tim has the bolt cutters, if you want to try getting that thing off you? Sorry again.”</p><p>Jon looked at the bolt cutters, still looking a little skittish before looking at Tim taking in his apologetic grimace, then back at Martin’s concerned expression before flushing with embarrassment again and looking down at the table.</p><p>“If you need a minute –“ Sasha started, but Jon abruptly shook his head, tensing his shoulders and sitting up tall before nodding at the bolt cutters.</p><p>“Alright. Sash, can you hold his hair back?” Tim picked up the heavy bolt cutters, looking at Jon in askance briefly before adding. “If you want us to stop just tap the counter, okay little guy?”</p><p>Jon’s brow seemed to furrow in annoyance at that, and he looked at Tim before deliberately tapping the counter once.</p><p>Tim laughed. “Knew it.”</p><p>“Okay, I’m going to move your hair now Jon.” Sasha warned, as she started lifting Jon’s hair to reveal the padlock holding the gag together.</p><p>Jon held himself incredibly stiff, clearly on edge despite the gentleness with which the team moved his hair. Martin extended his hand out to Jon in case he needed something to hold, but Jon only looked at Martin’s hand then balled his own into tight fists on the countertop as if fighting to refrain from taking him up on the offer.</p><p>“Alright, I’m going to clip it now.” Tim advised, as he aligned the bolt cutters with the loop of the padlock.</p><p>Jon steeled himself, and Tim squeezed the bolt cutters, straining until he heard the steel jaws click together.</p><p>Tim pulled back, seeing the clean cut made through the padlock loop.</p><p>“Let’s get this off.” Tim reached forward and twisted the padlock, sliding it through the holes at the back of the metal gag, putting the broken lock on the counter where Jon could see it.</p><p>“Let me know if this pinches, I’m going to try to –“ Tim reached up for the edges of the metal gag and pulled, trying to wrench the thing apart, but the metal wouldn’t budge. “Hang on, it’s just – hhhhgn – stubborn.”</p><p>Jon stayed as still as he could when Tim’s attempts to prise the gag apart rocked him back and forth. After his fifth attempt to pull the gag apart through sheer brute strength, Sasha batted his hands away.</p><p>“Let me look.”</p><p>Gently holding back Jon’s hair, Sasha tugged on the gag, the metal squashing Jon’s cheeks as she tried to pull it back enough to see underneath it, examining the metal closely.</p><p>“It really is welded on there. The lock was just unnecessary overkill, it’s literally welded together at the back.” She announced.</p><p>Jon looked crestfallen, staring at the lock on the countertop. It was gold, with an eye engraved on the front, a green gemstone winking up at him from the pupil of the eye, taunting him.</p><p>“What kind of sick mind game –“ Tim started, the disgust thick in his voice cut off when Jon knocked the lock away from him, cradling his head in his hands in clear despair.</p><p>The lock landed on the floor, tinkling as it hit the tile.</p><p>Maybe that was exactly what Elias intended, what sort of sick mind game he was playing. Giving Jon false hope that if he gets the lock off he’ll be free, when the lock was just another symbol for just how much Elias had him trapped.</p><p>Releasing Jon’s hair, Sasha chanced a hand on his shoulder, taking it as a good sign when he didn’t immediately shrug away from the contact. Or perhaps he was just too despondent to.</p><p>“We’ll find another way Jon. I promise.”</p><p>He looked to the side slightly as though acknowledging Sasha’s comfort, before he pushed his long hair off his face, looking more tired than ever.</p><p>“Yeah, don’t give up hope little guy.” Tim added. “We’ll keep trying.”</p><p>Jon’s eyebrow twitched at that and he looked at Tim, his prodding once again drawing a reaction out of the Archivist that wasn’t fear or sadness. Tim grinned at that encouragingly, his grin widening when Jon tapped the counter again.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Maybe I’ll just speak for you until we get that thing off.” Tim joked, and put a hand over his mouth as if to mimic Jon’s mask. “Oh Tim, you’re my best friend. You’re way better than Sasha. Urgh, or <em>Martin</em>.”</p><p>Jon somehow managed to both raise his eyebrow and scowl at Tim, waving his hand at him as if he could flap away the terrible impersonation.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Martin laughed, before pouring the mug of tea he prepared for Tim down the sink. “I see how it is.”</p><p>“No! My Martin tea!” Tim lamented, his bottom lip jutting out as he watched the brown liquid swirl down the sink.</p><p>“Jon says you deserved that.” Sasha sniped with a grin, glancing conspiratorially at Jon.</p><p>“No he didn’t.” Tim denied, but Jon raised his eyebrows at him and nodded, crossing his arms.</p><p>“See, Jon agrees with me.” Tim added, and Jon hurriedly uncrossed his arms, looking annoyed again.</p><p>But at least he wasn’t despondent.</p><p>Sasha laughed too, squeezing Jon’s shoulder before walking towards the hallway. “Come on Jon, I’ll show you where the bathroom is. Might as well get comfortable, then Tim can give you your book back.”</p><p>Sliding off the kitchen stool, Jon followed her, and Tim called out after them.</p><p>“I’ve got some clothes you can borrow when you’re done.”</p><p>“I’ve got it.” Sasha called back, before leaning down to stage whisper into Jon’s ear. “You don’t want to let Tim pick your clothes out for you. You should see what he gave me last time.”</p><p>Jon’s eyes sparked amusement at that, and he looked over his shoulder at Tim and Martin before disappearing down the hall with Sasha.</p><p>Tim sighed when they left, and suddenly seemed a lot more serious to Martin, as though dropping the joking affable mask he generally wore.</p><p>Walking over to pick up the padlock from the floor, Tim held the thing in his hand, glaring at it.</p><p>“I think I hate him, you know.” He said to Martin, not a hint of a joke in his voice.</p><p>It was weird seeing Tim like this, so focused and angry. It wasn’t something Martin had ever really seen before.</p><p>“Elias?” Martin clarified.</p><p>“The way he just – he would have kept playing us for fools. Keeping Jon locked up, convincing everyone he was a computer and removing more and more words until he couldn’t say anything to anyone. Nobody would have been able to help him. They’d all think he was just some Leitner computer program. It just –“ Tim sucked in a frustrated breath, squeezing his hand around the lock. “He would have had everyone convinced that Jon was some kind of monster, when the real monster was him all along. Lording it over us. Hiding information from us, important stuff.”</p><p>“Like the circus?” Martin questioned, and Tim started pacing, the expanse of the kitchen containing his anger.</p><p>“Like the circus, like Prentiss, like that thing that attacked Sasha. Not even touching on what he’s been trying to do to her. To – <em>groom</em> her into another Jon. Another Archivist.” Tim’s hands clenched and unclenched. “It really makes me sick, you know that? Just absolutely sickening that he could do all that and still point out the other monsters like he’s not just as bad. Cataloguing them all in his Institute and doing nothing to stop them or help the people they’ve hurt. It makes me sick. Not just sick – furious.”</p><p>Martin stared at Tim silently, empathising deeply.</p><p>“Like – I knew Jon!” Tim laughed, a hollow mockery of his usual cheerful self. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him before in the library. I talked to him – I – he was a grumpy little git sure, didn’t bring his books back on time and got all uppity when I suggested we share – but I talked to him before he was all – you’ve seen him, with the scars. It’s not right.”</p><p>“No it isn’t.” Martin agreed solemnly, before attempting to muster something like cheer, trying to bring Tim out of his dark mood. “We could always form a club? The I-Hate-Elias-Bouchard club.”</p><p>Tim closed his eyes and laughed wryly. “Can we get shirts made?”</p><p>“Oh, absolutely.” Martin nodded, looking Tim in the eye with a slight smile.</p><p>“Really stick it to the dress code.” Tim grinned, starting to look more like himself.</p><p>Martin slid Tim the tea he’d made for Jon approvingly, and Tim accepted the mug with a genuine smile.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jon and Sasha returned from the bathroom about half an hour later, Jon’s wet hair drying in lazy curls. He looked much better after a proper shower, decked out in a pair of Tim’s pyjama bottoms and one of Tim’s large fleece jumpers.</p><p>The metal mask was still stark, cutting across his features. It looked so horribly out of place with the rest of the comforts bestowed on him.  </p><p>Sasha had rolled up the pyjama pants for Jon, but he was absolutely swimming in the jumper, the oversized clothing making him look even scrawnier, if that were possible.</p><p>“Honestly. Is there a single piece of clothing in your wardrobe that isn’t like that?” Sasha asked as they re-entered the room.</p><p>The sweater she found for Jon was sage green, had a picture of a kayak on it, and in white writing had the words ‘<em>I can’t think of any good kayak puns, canoe</em>?’.</p><p>“I’m just being my most authentic self, Sash.” Tim’s mouth twisted like he was hiding a smile, standing in front of the stove cooking a curry for the group. “My wardrobe reflects that. You can’t fault me for living my best life.”</p><p>“You’re unbelievable.” Sasha shook her head, walking over to inspect the food on the stove.</p><p>Jon seemed to hover in the corner of the room before tentatively making his way over to the couch, a long sectional that supposedly pulled out into a futon.</p><p>He perched on the section furthest away from Martin, who sat closest to the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea on his lap.</p><p>“There’s a notepad and pen for you.” Martin reached out to tap the A4 lined notepad laid out for him. “And your book if you – I mean, Tim’s cooking – but if you wanted to –“</p><p>Jon just watched Martin fumble with his words before reaching out for the book solemnly, dragging it into his lap. He didn’t open it yet though, still looking around the room curiously.</p><p>“Tim’s apartment is nice.” Martin volunteered. “Er, nicer than I expected really.”</p><p>“Oi, I heard that.” Tim called out from the kitchen, and Martin staunchly ignored him, in favour of watching Jon’s eyes warm with amusement.</p><p>“I think we all just collectively forget he used to work in publishing. Plenty of books for you though, if you want, like, a snack or – or do you need statements? A lot’s happened to us today, so I’m sure you could take your pick.”</p><p>Jon’s eyes lit up when Martin mentioned statements, literally lit up a bright green, before Jon seemed to claw back his eager reaction, looking down at the book in his lap like he dare not look up.</p><p>“It’s okay if you do.” Martin added, noting Jon’s reaction. “We’d rather you have something to eat than go hungry Jon.”</p><p>Jon’s thumbs worried at the spine of the book, before he leaned forward and grabbed the paper and pen from the table.</p><p><em>I DON’T WANT YOU TO HAVE NIGHTMARES. GIVING ME A STATEMENT… CAUSES NIGHTMARES. YOU’VE ALREADY BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH</em>.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure we’ll already have nightmares Jon.” Martin huffed a laugh.</p><p><em>NOT NORMAL NIGHTMARES.</em> Was all Jon wrote, his pen heavy on the page.</p><p>“What do you mean ‘not normal nightmares’?” Martin read out, more for the benefit of the others.</p><p>“Are these the nightmares like I have?” Sasha called out from the kitchen. “It’s basically just the same thing that happened with Michael but with you there covered in eyeballs. They’re not <em>that</em> bad.”</p><p>Tim gave her a look, having been woken up by her nearly every night she stayed over with him due to the intensity of the nightmares she so casually played down. He knew she woke up screaming, every night.</p><p><em>I WON’T MAKE YOU RELIVE IT</em>. Jon wrote. <em>NOT IF I CAN HELP IT. </em></p><p>“Well, we’re not going to let you starve yourself.” Martin insisted stubbornly.</p><p>“Is there a way to get around the nightmares?” Sasha asked, her casual tone hiding her stake in the question, walking over to the couch to read over Jon’s shoulder. “Or a way to stop them before they start?”</p><p>Jon considered that for a moment before taking his pen to paper again.</p><p><em>BEFORE IF YOU SIGNED A CONTRACT WITH THE INSTITUTE THE NIGHTMARES WOULD STOP. THAT’S WHAT WORKED LAST TIME</em>.</p><p>“But I’m an Institute employee. I’ve got a copy of my contract if you need to see it. I still get the nightmares though. Why is that?”</p><p>Jon seemed to zone out for a moment, as though thinking deeply. Martin noted just a hint of green creep into his eyes, before Jon started writing again.</p><p><em>YOU ARE NOT SUFFICIENTLY SCARED OF THE EYE</em>.</p><p>“Well, what does that mean?”</p><p>Jon just blinked at the page, as though surprised by what he’d written. He tapped the pen to the page pensively, before adding to the page.</p><p>
  <em>ELIAS WANTS YOU TO EXPERIENCE EACH TYPE OF FEAR. ONE FOR EACH OF THE 14 ENTITIES. THAT’S PROBABLY WHY HE WAITED UNTIL AFTER YOU GAVE ME YOUR STATEMENT BEFORE TURNING YOU AWAY FROM ARTEFACT STORAGE. HE’S TRYING TO MARK YOU WITH EACH DIFFERENT FEAR UNTIL HE CAN USE YOU TO FINISH HIS RITUAL. THE ONE I UNDID. </em>
</p><p>Sasha read the paragraph intently, before waving Tim over.</p><p>“You’ll want to leave that to simmer Tim. It looks like exposition time. What ritual Jon? What did Elias do?”</p><p>Tim turned the hob down low and walked over, standing behind the couch with Sasha. He bent down to rest his elbows on the back of the lounge, scanning his eyes down the page to catch up on what Jon had written.</p><p>
  <em>ELIAS’S RITUAL IS CALLED THE WATCHER’S CROWN, AND WITH IT HE PLANS TO BRING THE EYE OF BEHOLDING INTO OUR WORLD TO RULE OVER A DOMINION OF FEAR. TO DO SO HE NEEDS AN ARCHIVIST MARKED DEEPLY BY FEAR OF EACH OF THE 14 ENTITIES. YOU’VE ALREADY BEEN MARKED BY THE SPIRAL, THE CORRUPTION, AND THROUGH ME, THE EYE.</em>
</p><p>“Hold on, roll it back. What are these 14 entities?” Tim insisted.</p><p>Jon paused, then ripped a page out of the notebook, making two columns with seven circles on each side, writing words inside each of the circles.</p><p>THE BURIED                THE CORRUPTION                    THE DARK                       THE DESOLATION                   THE END                   THE EYE                     THE FLESH    </p><p>THE HUNT                   THE LONELY                 THE SLAUGHTER                THE SPIRAL                 THE STRANGER                      THE VAST                           THE WEB</p><p>“So these are, what, fears? Categories of fear?” Sasha guessed, reaching over Jon’s shoulder to point at the page. “The Buried is the fear of being buried I guess, like buried alive? You said I’ve already been marked by The Corruption so that’s Jane Prentiss. The Dark is pretty self explanatory. What’s The Desolation?”</p><p>Jon wiggled his fingers up and down.</p><p>“Fear of being tickled to death?” Tim guessed, and Jon shot him a frustrated look.</p><p>“Is that fire?” Martin guessed more accurately. Jon nodded emphatically.</p><p>“Fear of fire then. That’s fairly common I suppose. The End, is that like death?” Sasha guessed and Jon nodded so she continued. “The Eye, that’s what Elias works for, right? What does that do?”</p><p><em>FEAR OF BEING WATCHED</em>. Jon wrote. <em>OF HAVING YOUR SECRETS EXPOSED AND LAID BARE TO THE WORLD. FEAR OF KNOWING, AND NOT KNOWING ENOUGH, AND THE COMPULSION TO KNOW MORE EVEN IF IT ONLY PUTS YOU IN MORE DANGER. </em></p><p>“So just another day at the office then.” Tim joked, and Sasha laughed.</p><p>“Sounds about right. The Flesh, is that like those statements with all the meat, like that guy who hammered meat into his walls? Gross one that one.”</p><p>Jon nodded again and pointed to the circle reading THE HUNT before writing.</p><p><em>THE SECURITY GUARDS WERE OF THE HUNT. ANDREW COCHRANE AND JAMIE SANDERS. DETECTIVE TONNER IS AS WELL THOUGH NOT AS FAR GONE AS THOSE TWO. TREVOR HERBERT AND JULIA MONTAUK AS WELL</em>.</p><p>“Trevor the tramp? Vampire hunter Trevor Herbert?” Tim exclaimed gleefully. “His statement was a right laugh.”</p><p>“Didn’t he kill a guy Tim?” Martin asked with a slight frown. “And died, of lung cancer, right in the Institute? I heard he died right in the Archives?”</p><p>“What’s The Lonely?” Sasha pressed on, tapping the page expectantly.</p><p>
  <em>THE MOST INSIDIOUS OF FEARS. FEAR OF BEING ALONE, OF DYING ALONE. ASSOCIATED WITH THE LUKAS FAMILY. IF YOU EVER SEE PETER LUKAS, RUN, OR THINK OF THE PEOPLE THAT CARE ABOUT YOU AND LET THAT GROUND YOU. DON’T LET HIM ANYWHERE NEAR YOU. </em>
</p><p>“Have you run into him before then? Like, before before.” Tim asked and Jon nodded tersely. “Have you run into him after? I heard he’s been visiting the Institute quite a bit. He’s one of the donors.”</p><p>Jon nodded again, distaste creeping over his features.</p><p><em>HE’S WITH ELIAS. HE HELPED ELIAS –</em> Jon’s pen pressed harder against the page, the ink coming out heavy as he wrote <em>CONTAIN ME. </em></p><p>“Right, so if we see him deck him and run away.” Tim nodded, and Jon shot him a warning look. “What? It’s warranted. Anyone who helped Elias deserves to have their teeth knocked in.”</p><p><em>JUST STAY AWAY FROM HIM</em>. Jon stressed, underlining the words. <em>HE’S MORE DANGEROUS THAN YOU REALISE. </em></p><p>“Alright Mum.” Tim rolled his eyes, before pointing at the page. “I’m guessing The Slaughter is also self-explanatory. Don’t see what’s so scary about a spiral though? Are many people scared of squiggly lines?”</p><p>
  <em>THE SPIRAL IS THE TWISTING DECEIT. THE FEAR OF MADNESS, DECEPTION, LYING, FALSE FRIENDS, HALLUCINATIONS OR ILLUSIONS. IT CAN BE VERY DANGEROUS. IT MAKES YOU QUESTION YOUR OWN REALITY. YOU’VE ALREADY MET THE DISTORTION, MICHAEL. </em>
</p><p>“He was The Spiral?” Sasha exclaimed, gripping her shoulder reflexively. “And he wanted to what – drive me mad by never giving me a straight answer?”</p><p><em>HE WAS LIKELY TRYING TO MANIPULATE YOU</em>. Jon wrote matter of factly<em>. I WOULDN’T TRUST ANY HELP HE TRIES TO OFFER YOU. </em></p><p>“You don’t need to tell me twice.” Sasha shuddered.</p><p>“What’s this one then, xenophobia?” Tim joked, pointing to The Stranger.</p><p><em>THE STRANGER IS THE CIRCUS</em>. Jon wrote simply, sobering Tim’s humour in an instant. <em>FEAR OF THE UNCANNY AND UNFAMILIAR. THE CREEPING SENSE THAT SOMETHING ISN’T RIGHT. THEATRE, TAXIDERMY, MANNEQUINS. AN ABSTRACTION OF IDENTITY AND FEAR OF IMPOSTERS, OF LOSING YOURSELF TO SOMETHING THAT LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU. </em></p><p>“The table.” Tim said gravely. “The one you warned us about, you said it replaced Sasha in the future you came from. That it can replace people.”</p><p>“We’ll steer clear from that one.” Sasha said. “What’s The Vast?”</p><p>
  <em>FEAR OF HEIGHTS. FALLING. LARGE OPEN SPACES AND INSIGNIFICANCE. </em>
</p><p>“They’re all sort of esoteric, aren’t they?” Martin observed. “Not just straight forward ‘fear of this’. They get kind of complex. Abstract.”</p><p><em>ADULT FEARS OFTEN ARE</em>. Jon noted. <em>COMPLEX FEARS ARE BETTER. A MORE SATISFYING MEAL. A MORE SUSTAINABLE FEAR TO HARVEST.</em></p><p>“Like statements? That’s what the Archive is, isn’t it? A varied diet for these fear entities.” Sasha guessed, and Jon tilted his head back and forth like that wasn’t quite right, before writing.</p><p>
  <em>THE OTHER FEARS VIEW THE EYE AS A PARASITE OF SORTS, BENEFITTING FROM THE EXPERIENCES OF FEAR CULTIVATED BY THE OTHER ENTITIES. IT HAS MANY ENEMIES AS WELL, FEARS WHERE TO HAVE THEIR ESSENCE KNOWN STRIPS THEM OF THEIR POWER. KNOWLEDGE CAN MAKE THE UNKNOWN OR UNKNOWABLE LESS FRIGHTENING BUT CAN EMPHASISE CERTAIN FEARS. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>THE DARK RELIES ON YOU NOT SEEING WHATS IN THERE WITH YOU, STRANGERS AREN’T UNFAMILIAR WHEN YOU KNOW THEM, LIES ARE DISPELLED BY THE TRUTH. BUT KNOWING EXACTLY HOW FAR THERE IS TO FALL FROM A GREAT HEIGHT DOESN’T HELP, KNOWING WHAT HAPPENS TO A BODY WHEN IT HITS THE GROUND, WHEN IT BURNS, KNOWING WHAT’S INFESTING YOUR HOME, KNOWING HOW FAR DEEP YOU’RE BURIED, OR THAT YOU CAN’T ESCAPE, OR THAT YOU’RE BEING STALKED, OR DYING, OR ALONE, OR BEING MANIPULATED SIMPLY MAKE THOSE FEARS MORE ACUTE. </em>
</p><p>“What’s this last one? The Web. It’s not fear of the internet, that seems too modern.” Sasha asked.</p><p><em>THE WEB IS SPIDERS</em>. Jon wrote, suppressing a small shudder.</p><p>“Spiders are not so bad.” Martin said lightly. “They’re actually a very vital part of the ecosystem and –“</p><p>Jon rolled his eyes as though he’d heard Martin’s pro-spider rant many times and shook his head at him.</p><p><em>THE WEB IS THE MOTHER OF PUPPETS. FEAR OF SPIDERS, BUT ALSO FEAR OF BEING CONTROLLED OR MANIPULATED. OF BEING TRAPPED AND UNAWARE OF ONES OWN ENTRAPMENT. IT’S THE FEAR OF BEING FORCED TO DO THINGS AGAINST YOUR WILL. IT MANIFESTS AS SPIDERS, WEBS, NETS, PUPPETS</em>.</p><p>“Is every spider a facet of the web, or do you get some normal spiders where its just a coincidence?” Sasha asked curiously. “Because there was a spider in the office today, it crawled right over my hand right before the shelves fell over.”</p><p><em>NOT A COINCIDENCE.</em> Jon wrote solemnly. <em>THE LIGHTER TOO</em>.</p><p>“With the web pattern on it. Of course, I’m so stupid.” Sasha lamented.</p><p>“No, you’re not.” Tim immediately jumped in. “You used that lighter to get everyone out of the building. You probably saved people by doing that, that’s not stupid at all.”</p><p>“Not every spider is the physical embodiment of entrapment.” Martin insisted. “You get some little ones that are really quite – er-“</p><p>Martin’s voice trailed off given the disapproving look Jon levelled at him.</p><p>“So those are the 14 fears, huh?” Tim clicked his tongue. “Just got to keep you away from those, and Sasha won’t be turned into Elias’s Archivist 2.0.”</p><p>“I have a question.” Martin spoke up, looking at the two pages of Jon’s mostly legible handwriting. “How come you were able to spell this all out for us, but in the police station your hand kept cramping when you tried to explain things?”</p><p>Jon looked as surprised as anyone, looking down to the palm of his hand and smoothing his thumb over it, dwelling on the situation. Eventually he shrugged.</p><p>“Were you being manipulated? Was it spooky spider business?” Tim asked, and Jon looked perturbed, before shaking his head.</p><p>
  <em>I WOULD HAVE SEEN THE WEBS. THIS WAS THE EYE STOPPING ME. </em>
</p><p>“Why?” Sasha asked. “I thought the Eye was your thing, you know, since you’re the Archivist.”</p><p><em>IT WANTS THINGS TOO.</em> Jon replied. <em>IT DOESN’T ALWAYS LET ME KNOW WHAT IT WANTS BUT IT’S BEEN UNPREDICTABLE SINCE I GOT BACK</em>.</p><p>“Got back from where? The future?” Tim asked, his tone shifting into joking as he added. “The end of the world?”</p><p><em>YES</em>. Jon wrote simply on the page.</p><p>“Right.” Sasha said after a moments silence. “Forgot about that. How – how did that happen?”</p><p>Jon put pen to paper again, poised to write but then his hand seized up once more, his whole body wracked with pain.</p><p>He dropped the pen and pulled his hand to his chest, compulsively rubbing his palm with his thumb again.</p><p>“So, I take it that’s off limits.” Sasha presumed, watching Jon look down at his palm, the skin there smooth and unblemished.</p><p>“We should be noting this down.” Tim suggested. “If we can’t ask directly, noting down the topics it doesn’t want you to answer can clue us in on what it’s trying to hide.”</p><p>“It stopped us at the police station.” Sasha started listing on her fingers. “When they asked you what the Archivist was. Again when you tried to explain the Archive to them. Does down in the tunnels count? When Martin’s phone kept dying?”</p><p>Jon shrugged, flexing his hand before picking up the pen again.</p><p>
  <em>I’VE HAD MIXED RESULTS WITH TECHNOLOGY. I DON’T IMAGINE THAT WAS DIRECT CENSORSHIP FROM THE EYE THOUGH. IT STILL LET ME TELL YOU WHERE GERTRUDE’S BODY WAS. </em>
</p><p>“And the pen running out, are we chalking that up to coincidence too?”</p><p>Jon shrugged again, clearly uncertain. It was hard to tell. Much like with The Web, The Eye’s involvement was just as shrouded in mystery. There was no real way of knowing where it’s reach ended.</p><p>“It let you tell me that Elias is trying to make me another Archivist, so that’s not what it’s hiding from us.” Sasha presumed.</p><p>“Mysteries upon mysteries.” Tim said ominously, before clapping his hands on the back of the couch and standing up. “Right, who wants a curry? Probably ready now.”</p><p>“Are you alright if we eat?” Martin asked Jon politely. “Are you alright with the book? We can give you a statement.”</p><p>Jon’s shoulders hunched and he drew his knees into his chest, shaking his head even as his eyes glowed a hungry green. He clung to the book with white knuckled fists, holding it like a barrier between him and his baser instincts.</p><p>“You’re getting a statement.” Sasha decided for him. “You can have mine. I’m already having the dreams, and one more nightmare isn’t going to make a difference.”</p><p>Jon looked at her as if he wanted to argue.</p><p>“Besides, I’d feel bad if we’re all sitting around eating curry while you have nothing. You’re too skinny.” She added, her tone almost teasing, casual enough to deflate some of the seriousness building in Jon’s eyes.</p><p>“You really are.” Martin added with a nervous laugh. “Your wrists are so skinny. I just kind of want to feed you.”</p><p>Martin’s face looked somewhat pink with that admission and Jon’s eyes seemed to soften at the sight of that.</p><p>“Yes, yes, we all want to coddle the Archivist.” Tim joked from the kitchen. “Come on serve up before it gets cold.”</p><p>Jon remained tightly wound, curled up on the corner of the couch as the archival team filed into the kitchen, serving up the curry. They all moved into the lounge when their plates were piled with food, ensuring that Jon didn’t feel left out, and they all dug in, eating ravenously as though the stress of the day caught up with them all at once.</p><p>Jon watched them closely the whole time, Martin sharing the couch with him and Tim and Sasha sitting on the floor to give Jon space. He seemed to unwind as the dinner went on, never quite relaxed fully, but there came a time when he swapped the book for a throw pillow and his shoulders slowly stopped bracketing his ears.</p><p>After they’d eaten, Sasha turned to face Jon, detailing the events of the day, and the words poured from her with the coherence of narrative that it did back when she gave her initial statement. Tim and Martin felt frozen as well, almost holding their breath as they were paralysed by the intensity of Jon’s focus.</p><p>This time they could see his eyes glow that venomous green, the glow leaving strange aftereffects in the air around him. It felt a bit like staring into a lightbulb, then seeing duplicates of the light in the air around it when your eyes adjusted. As Jon took Sasha’s statement it seemed as though he had triple the eyes, floating in the air around his head, and yet it was apparent that he only had the two set into his face.</p><p>When the statement ended, and the team collectively caught their breath, they did notice a difference in Jon. His face seemed less gaunt; his wrists no longer painfully bony. He was still skinny, but he looked less emaciated, his eyes closing slowly like a contented cat.</p><p>When he opened his eyes though, brown once more, he looked terribly guilty.</p><p>“You look much better now.” Sasha commented, but Jon only looked down at his hands in disgust.</p><p>“It is kind of cool. Your eyes sort of glowed, it was pretty trippy.” Tim added but Jon only ran his hands through his hair, burying his face in his hands as if nursing a headache.</p><p>“A-are you tired?” Martin guessed, concerned as Jon proceeded to look more and more sick of himself.</p><p>“We should work out sleeping arrangements. Martin, do you want the air mattress? The couch has a pull out bed too, that’s pretty roomy.” Tim offered.</p><p>Jon reached out for the notepad, scribbling on it.</p><p><em>MARTIN OR SASHA CAN HAVE THE COUCH. I’LL JUST SIT HERE</em>.</p><p>Then further beneath that he wrote.</p><p>
  <em>I DON’T NEED TO SLEEP.</em>
</p><p>“You do sleep though. You were asleep that one time.” Tim pointed out.</p><p><em>I DON’T WANT TO SLEEP</em>. Jon clarified, looking a little ashamed.</p><p>“Well, that’s –“ Tim started.</p><p>“No reason you can’t be comfortable though.” Sasha stepped in. “Nothing wrong with that. We can bring blankets to the sectional if that helps. That way there’s no pressure, but if you do sleep at least it’ll be comfortable.”</p><p>“Alright. Martin has the pull-out sofa then, and Jon can have the long bit of the sectional.” Tim decided.</p><p><em>WILL SASHA NEED THE AIR MATTRESS</em>? Jon asked politely.</p><p>“Er, no. She’s –“ Tim started awkwardly, wondering how he could explain that she shared the bed with him. He didn’t need to though, as Sasha blurted out again.</p><p>“We sleep tops and tails.” She seemed embarrassed for a moment, before continuing. “Since the run in with Michael. It’s – safer than –“</p><p>Jon raised an eyebrow looking mildly amused.</p><p>“Right.” Sasha said awkwardly. “We’re going now. Goodnight!”</p><p>She marched down the hall to Tim’s room, trying to smother her mortification, but Tim stayed back to organise blankets for Martin and Jon.</p><p>“Funny one, that one.” Tim remarked, when all the cushions were set out. “Don’t suppose you can spooky see if she fancies me?”</p><p>Jon gave Tim a disbelieving look, before Tim waved Jon off. “Never mind. Feel free to wake us up if you need anything. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you crazy kids.”</p><p>Then Tim left for the bedroom, leaving Martin and Jon alone.</p><p>Martin fussed with the blankets, uncertain if changing into something comfier to sleep in would upset Jon.</p><p>Jon just looked at Martin’s fussing, before picking up Tim’s book, turning it to the page he was last at, studiously looking away.</p><p>Martin took that as permission in a way, and slid out of his shoes, his belt, and his watch, taking off his glasses and putting them on the coffee table. He could sleep easily enough in his work slacks and sweater, they’d just be a bit wrinkled the next day.</p><p>Jon still hadn’t moved, engrossed in his book, so Martin puttered about, turning on the lamp by the coffee table so Jon had light to read by, and turning off the main lights in the room.</p><p>Settling down in the pull out sofa, Martin rearranged the pillows, before looking up at Jon.</p><p>He was a statue once again, devouring the pages of the novel, his eyes distant and faintly green.</p><p>“Uh, goodnight.” Martin attempted. “Let – just wake me up if you need anything. Uh, I hope you sleep well if you do?”</p><p>Jon was completely unresponsive, lost in the book.</p><p>“Right. Um, right.”</p><p>Martin turned over, settling down, and after much tossing and turning, he finally fell asleep, the flutter of his eyes behind his eyelids indicating a deep one.</p><p>Several hours passed, and Jon finally finished the book, coming back to himself as he turned the last page. He shuddered as he regained control of himself, putting the book down and grasping his arms as he tried to breath through the panic associated with losing himself while reading.</p><p>It was an unfortunate part of who he was now, of how he functioned, but it was still deeply traumatic, and the fact that he couldn’t help it – that he needed it to live rattled him every time he partook. He used to love reading. That was another thing Elias took from him, along with his humanity, and everyone he ever loved.</p><p>He looked over to Martin’s sleeping form now, softening somewhat as he took in the details of him.</p><p>Martin was still alive here, as was Tim and Sasha. People he never thought he’d see again, treating him with grotesque amounts of kindness and patience considering the danger he brought into their lives.</p><p>Jon knew he didn’t deserve it, this second chance. That seeking to undo the end of the world should have ended in his death, it should have been simple.</p><p>Instead he was selfish, pulling the world back to the very beginning, before anyone he knew had been hurt, as though he could shape the world to suit his whims, just as petty and callous as any of the entities. Any of these so-called Gods. </p><p>He could have helped more people than just his own. There were countless who were hurt by the entities, statements stretching back hundreds of years. There were archivists from ancient times who could have been sheltered from their fates or turned from their dangerous paths.</p><p>Jon was selfish, to have prioritised his own so much. To have reshaped the world simply to protect his own. He wasn’t doing a great job of it. Already he painted a target on their backs, drawing them into Elias’s plans. If they had just left him in Artefact Storage –</p><p>Jon dug his nails into his arms at that thought, the skin breaking then healing almost instantaneously after his hearty meal earlier.</p><p>Even the spark of pain couldn’t jolt him out of his panic, thinking on the prospect of having been left there, left to Elias’s non-existent mercies while he attempted to slowly flay Jon of whatever shred of humanity he clung onto.  </p><p>He couldn’t go back there.</p><p>So he would be selfish. He would allow himself to be.</p><p>Jon looked over to Martin, the sight of him helping pull Jon from that panicked place into something resembling calm once more.</p><p>Reaching over he pulled the blanket up to cover Martin’s shoulders, smoothing it gently once, before reaching for the light switch, turning the reading lamp off.</p><p>The room was dark now, the sort of darkness that would bring a more peaceful sleep to Martin. Jon could endure that darkness, if it helped.</p><p>Now the only light in the room was the two pinpricks of neon green, fixated on Martin Blackwood’s every inhale and exhale in the peaceful dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Martin woke up the next morning, it was early. The sun was only just peeking through the windows of Tim’s apartment and the room was quiet and peaceful.</p><p>Shifting around in his bedsheets, Martin looked over to see Jon sprawled on the sectional, his hair draped over his face. He looked as though he tried his hardest to stay awake, sitting upright right up until he fell asleep, his hair fanned out against the couch cushions having dried into soft looking curls. His body was turned to face Martin, as though he’d been watching over him until his eyelids grew too heavy. There was something peaceful and restive about his body now - the tension he normally carried in his shoulders having bled out. He looked like a doll with his strings cut, sprawled so gracelessly, his head lolling forward, and there was this deep vulnerability that he would likely bristle at were he awake. </p><p>Martin paused, just watching Jon for a moment, trying to commit the details of him to memory now while he was asleep, so he wouldn’t feel awkward if he were caught staring when Jon was awake later.</p><p>It was odd seeing him this vulnerable. The expanse of his throat was bared, his head tipped sideways against the cushions, and Martin could see lighter skin slashed across his throat. Another one of his scars. They were almost painful to look at.</p><p>Jon was so small and so frail, the thought that someone could hurt him so much seemed alien to Martin. His scars didn’t look right on his body. It was just jarring to think that someone could have suffered so much. The more that Martin looked, the more he saw. Circular scars that looked like the holes on Martin’s calves, worm scars, but so many of them dotted along Jon’s collarbone, his arm, the side of his neck. His right hand was pink, all scar tissue there. A huge burn mark. It was no wonder he rubbed it so frequently, it must have hurt a lot.</p><p>The sweater Tim gave him was too big for him and it had slipped off his shoulder in the night, revealing more scars, puckered tight skin like he’d been stabbed several times.</p><p>And then there were the myriad of tiny scars, small crescents dotted all over Jon’s body. Martin had no idea what to make of those.</p><p>It just defied comprehension that someone could hurt another human being so much. Martin couldn’t wrap his head around it, that anyone would torture another person to this extent. That someone <em>could</em> be tortured to this extent and still be alive, still be functional. Martin expected anyone else would have fallen apart completely, it was a marvel that Jon was still responsive after everything he’d been through.</p><p>Even unable to speak, parts of Jon’s personality shone through. It was clear he was fond of them all, calling them his friends, wanting to protect them. He also seemed familiar with Tim’s joking and found it annoying, that little sliver of irritation hinting at Jon’s personality. He showed appreciation for Sasha, the two of them comprised of the same blunt practicality that made them so compatible to the role of Archivist. He even seemed fond of Martin, from the many soft looks he caught Jon sending him, from the way he seemed to relax around him more so than around the others. The way he seemed to seek Martin out unconsciously when stressed or frightened. Even now he was leaning towards Martin as though caught in his orbit, even while unconscious.</p><p>And then there was the poetry.</p><p>Martin had been preoccupied with thoughts of Jon from the moment he first encountered him, but when he read out Martin’s unfinished poem…</p><p>He could have chosen any snippet of information to prove he knew what he was talking about. He could have said something about Martin’s mother or reveal how he’d lied on his CV or mention what colour socks he wore or what he had for breakfast that day.</p><p>The fact that Jon chose to read out one of Martin’s poems. One he hadn’t even finished yet - it was like Jon could see into Martin’s soul.</p><p>Could he? Was that another power of his, or was it something special just for Martin, this intimate knowledge of him?</p><p>Martin had been lonely for much of his entire life, he’d been mostly unnoticed by those around him, and those who did notice him didn’t really care, so to have someone come out of the blue like this and make him feel so utterly <em>seen</em>, it razed Martin’s expectations of the world down and built a shrine to Jon up in it’s place.</p><p>He didn’t know when he found himself feeling so strongly for Jon, but he knew it was before he’d met him in person properly. At the time he felt silly for having feelings for a computer, for what he presumed was an AI of extraordinary sentience. Now having a face and a name to pin those feelings to (and that it was such a nice face) was honestly more than Martin could handle right now.</p><p>Martin found himself wistfully wishing he knew what Jon’s voice sounded like, jealous of Tim that he’d spoken to the man before all of this befell him. He wondered what would be the first thing Jon would say when he got the mask off? If he could eat human food, what foods would he like? He said he liked Martin’s tea, maybe that could be the first thing made for him when he was finally free. He wondered what it felt like to hold Jon’s hand, if the scar tissue hurt him, or if he could do it without pain, maybe even soothe that pain some just by offering comfort freely? What it would sound like for Jon to say his name?</p><p>He wondered so many things about Jon that he thought he might burst, or that his fervent regard might wake the other man up, leaving him convinced that Martin was some sort of creep that he wanted nothing to do with.</p><p>Although, that would be a bit hypocritical, wouldn’t it?</p><p>Jon certainly stared at the rest of them enough. He certainly knew enough about them. He was a vessel for a voyeuristic fear god.</p><p>Still, Martin didn’t want to upset him.</p><p>Deciding that he’d stop staring at Jon’s sleeping face, Martin made to sit up when suddenly he heard a piercing scream from the bedroom.</p><p>It startled Jon awake, the smaller man flinching and sweeping the hair off his face, his eyes a vibrant green, locking instantly to Martin’s own in terror.</p><p>Martin scrambled out of the sofa bed, hearing Tim’s voice from the other room soothing Sasha, who continued to scream and sob uncontrollably.</p><p>Rushing into the bedroom Martin stopped in the doorway, Jon following right behind him, watching as Sasha thrashed about in bed, Tim held her shoulders, rubbing them gently, trying to calm her down.</p><p>“Sash! Sash it’s alright. Open your eyes, it was just a dream. Sash!”</p><p>Sasha opened her eyes, panting, and looked around the room in a panic.</p><p>Her eyes stopped when they reached Jon, widening in fright as she scrambled back in the bed, pointing at him. She looked like she was about to scream again, the sound caught in her throat.</p><p>Jon looked crestfallen, taking a step back from Sasha’s accusatory finger, before he backed out of the room slowly, his hands held up in front of him.</p><p>Sasha seemed to slowly come back to herself, realising what she’d just done, and catching her breath she flung her hand out in front of her.</p><p>“W-wait! Jon, wait!”</p><p>Jon hesitated, almost hiding behind Martin now, obviously rattled by Sasha’s reaction.</p><p>“Sorry – sorry, I just –“ Sasha ran her hands through her hair and laughed, a hollow bitter sound. “Am I sufficiently scared now? I mean, that’s what it wants, right? For me to be scared of The Eye.”</p><p>Jon seemed distraught by this, and Martin stepped in front of him protectively, trying to shield him bodily from Sasha’s gaze even if he couldn’t stop her sharp words.</p><p>“Sorry, sorry.” Sasha started again, waving her hands in front of her. “I’m not – I shouldn’t be taking this out on you. I chose this. But – I – if it wants me to be scared of The Eye then it should show me The Eye. It’s not fair that the only thing I see is you. Jon, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You’re not giving any more statements.” Tim decided for her. “Let some of us share the load. If these dreams are making you relive everything, then lets limit it, shall we? We’re not the one Elias wants to funnel fear into, let us give the next statements and you stop taking on so much on your own.”</p><p>Jon was shaking his head, his protestations mostly ignored.</p><p>“God, I want a shower.” Sasha shuddered. “Can somebody check me for worms? Today was - it was too much. Sorry again. Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay. I’ll check. You guys go back to bed.” Tim urged, helping Sasha out of bed.</p><p>Martin laughed. “After that? Not likely. I’ll – I’ll put on some tea.”</p><p>As Tim led Sasha away into the bathroom Jon just stood in the doorway, looking like he’d been doused with guilt and set on fire.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After everyone had sufficiently calmed down and shaken off the nightmare, the team had an early breakfast. Tim tried to offer Jon a statement of his to give him something to eat, but Jon vehemently denied it.</p><p>If Tim backed down fairly quickly, not pushing the matter further, no one mentioned it.</p><p>Eventually the morning progressed to find Jon sitting in the corner of the apartment, furthest away from the others as they crowded around Tim’s laptop on the opposite side of the flat, trying to google how to remove the mask.</p><p>“Almost got it – Jon!” Tim called out and Jon jumped startled. “What did you do?”</p><p>Jon held his hands out in askance, having just scratched his nose, accidentally causing Tim’s computer to glitch out of focus.</p><p>“Alright, no nose scratching. No nothing. No, don’t even look at the computer. Look at the ceiling.”</p><p>With a long-suffering sigh Jon complied, and Tim whacked the side of his laptop a few more times until the screen came back into focus.</p><p>“Right, so to un-weld we have a couple of options, it looks like.” Tim read out, scrolling through the page. “There’s plasma cutting, torch cutting, you can saw it off – hit it with a hammer. Jesus, none of these methods seem particularly safe, do they? All of these look like they’ll burn half your head off before they do the trick.”</p><p>Jon sighed loudly again and crossed his arms.</p><p>“Now Jon, we’ve been over this.” Martin spoke up, wagging his finger at the man. “Just because you won’t die, doesn’t mean we’re putting you in mortal danger. We will find another way.”</p><p>Jon tapped his fingers impatiently against his arm, each tap momentarily sending static across the laptop screen.</p><p>“Jon, what have I said about moving?” Tim chided and Jon ran his hands through his hair in frustration.</p><p>“You know, Jon does have a point.” Sasha conceded. “Maybe we’re turning to the wrong google. Is there another way to get the mask off? A supernatural way maybe? One that won’t put your life at risk?”</p><p>Jon looked exasperated, before he turned to reach for the notepad and paper, sending static cascading across Tim’s computer screen.</p><p>Tim shouted and clutched his head as the computer abruptly turned off with an ominous hissing sound.</p><p>“Bloody hell. Can’t exactly take that back to the mac store now can I? They don’t cover supernatural damages.”</p><p>“Oh, leave off Tim. It’ll be fine.” Sasha patted Tim on the shoulder consolingly before walking over to Jon, reading what he wrote.</p><p>“Jon says there might be a way.” Sasha read out. “He knows something out there exists that can get it off, but he can’t see exactly what it is. It’s hidden, he says.”</p><p>“Well that’s helpful.” Tim clapped his hands on his knees, spinning around in his desk chair.</p><p>“Just because it’s hidden, doesn’t mean we can’t find it.” Sasha countered. “I don’t imagine there’s much that can stay hidden from an all-seeing entity, so maybe we can narrow it down that way. Any ideas Jon?”</p><p>Jon flicked the ballpoint pen against the page for a moment, mulling it over. His eyes seemed to strain green on and off for a few moments, before he wrote down two words on the page.</p><p>
  <em>MIKAELE SALESA. </em>
</p><p>“Who’s Mikaele Salesa?” Sasha asked for the benefit of the others.</p><p>“He was in one of the statements.” Tim recalled. “I remember doing the pre-work for it and putting it on your desk the day we all got put on leave for two weeks. We didn’t get into it. It was probably still there when we came back yesterday. Could be worm food by now. He was a dodgy antiques salesman I think.”</p><p>“Will one of his dodgy antiques help get the mask off?” Sasha probed, and Jon gave a half shrug, before nodding.</p><p>“That looked convincing.” Tim raised an eyebrow.</p><p><em>HE MIGHT NOT WANT TO HELP US</em>. Jon wrote down. <em>HE DOESN’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE ENTITIES ANYMORE. </em></p><p>“Smart man.” Tim remarked.</p><p><em>THAT’S DEBATABLE</em>. Jon huffed out a breath. <em>HE DID MAKE A LIVING DEALING IN ENTITY ALIGNED ARTEFACTS RELYING ON FOLKLORE LOGIC THAT THE CONSEQUENCES OF DEALING IN THESE GOODS WOULD FALL BACK ON THE BUYER, NOT THE MERCHANT. </em></p><p>
  <em>HE ALSO WILL NOT BE HAPPY TO SEE US AND TRACKING HIM DOWN WILL BE DIFFICULT AS NOT ONLY IS HE SHIELDED FROM THE EYE, BUT FAKING HIS OWN DEATH LEFT HIM WITHOUT MUCH OF A PAPER TRAIL. </em>
</p><p>Sasha sucked in a frustrated breath, clicking her tongue.</p><p>“Oooh. Any idea where we can start looking? A description maybe? What does he look like?”</p><p><em>HE’S VERY TALL.</em> Jon wrote. <em>BIG SAMOAN MAN WITH SHORT HAIR AND TATTOOS.</em></p><p>“Sounds like he’d stand out then.” Martin guessed.</p><p>“Should be easy enough to spot.” Tim scratched the back of his head. “Should I hit up my police contacts? I haven’t spoken to Melody or Pritchard for a while, so they might take a little coaxing, especially if I’m asking for CCTV footage.”</p><p>“Do you have any idea where he might be, to narrow down the search a bit?” Sasha pressed, watching Jon’s eyes fade from green to brown and back again.</p><p>When Jon seemed to reach a conclusion, his eyes were brown. A normal revelation then, and not a supernatural one.</p><p><em>BANBURY</em>. Jon wrote down. <em>OXFORDSHIRE. </em></p><p><em>HE’LL BE AT UPTON HOUSE</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>two chapters in one day i'm literally on fire guys someone come put me out</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You drive a BMW?”</p><p>Tim seemed to be full of surprises, now that the Archival team were so closely acquainted with his life. He had no problems bragging about his many romantic conquests in the office but never once had he thought to mention the fact that he was secretly stinking rich.</p><p>“Why does everyone sound surprised? I told you I worked in publishing before here.” Tim exclaimed, putting their bags in the boot.</p><p>“You must have been making a fortune.” Martin exclaimed, opening the back door and examining the black leather seats. “Why on earth would you give it up to work at the Institute?”</p><p>“I told you. What happened to Danny meant more than making it large in publishing. No point mucking around with book deals when clowns are out there skinning people alive.” Tim replied flippantly swinging his keys around his finger as he walked to the front seat. “Although recent events such as discovering our boss is an evil inhumane eye voyeur may have made me reconsider.”</p><p>“It <em>is</em> a work day today. Do you reckon the Institute’s open, or are they still cleaning up the worm corpses?” Martin asked, sliding in the back seat next to Jon, who had a stack of Tim’s books on his lap as snacks for the ride. “Or – or fending off a murder investigation or whatever.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you started that sentence with ‘<em>it’s a work day’</em> Martin.” Sasha chided. “What, do you think we’re going to get in trouble for playing hooky?”</p><p>“Why leave it at hooky?” Tim shrugged, putting his seatbelt on. “We should never go back there, if we can help it. We should just qui-“</p><p>Tim seemed to wince then, as if the word wasn’t coming out right, and tried again. “Qui- fuck. Jon?”</p><p>Jon looked about two seconds away from a trance, his fingers trailing down the blurb of one of the books and turned his head without really looking away from the page, clearly only half listening.</p><p>“Jon?” Tim reached behind him and tapped on the book, startling Jon to attention. “Why can’t I say the word qui- Q U I T?”</p><p>Jon blinked at Tim, before understanding and dismay chased the confusion away, comprehension hitting like a freight train.</p><p>Reaching for the notebook and pen tucked into the back of the chair in front of him, Jon began to write and Martin read it aloud for Tim and Sasha.</p><p>“Once you sign a contract you can’t quit the Institute. Some supernatural reason I’m guessing then?” He paused for Jon’s answer then read it aloud. “Signing a contract binds you to The Eye – oh that’s not good – and to Elias as Head of the Institute. If you try to leave you’ll get sick unless you – Jon seriously? You’ve got to be joking.”</p><p>“What?” Sasha asked, twisting around in your seat.</p><p>“Unless you gouge your eyes out.” Martin divulged, looking disgusted. Jon was still writing, and Martin looked over to read it aloud. “Or kill m- Jon, enough! We’re not going to kill you or put you in danger so just stop it.”</p><p>Jon simply shrugged in a resigned fashion and scrawled.</p><p><em>IT MIGHT NOT EVEN BE POSSIBLE ANYMORE. I’M TOO INHUMAN TO DIE AT THIS POINT. ELIAS HAS CERTAINLY TRIED</em>.</p><p>“Look, I’m just going to –“ Martin reached over and plucked the pen out of Jon’s hand, ignoring the mildly outraged look he gave him. “No more morbidly suicidal or incredibly disturbing talk from you for the next half hour, okay?”</p><p>A laugh slipped from Sasha in the front seat, catching a glimpse of Jon’s stymied expression.</p><p>“If you promise to be a little more upbeat about things, then I’ll give you your pen back. Deal?”</p><p>“Oooh, you’ve been told now.” Sasha teased, laughing. “Don’t wanna mess with the Martin.”</p><p>“I’m just saying, it can’t be good for someone to be so – so calamitous all the time. Give yourself a break.” Martin urged, still withholding the pen despite Jon’s grabby hands.</p><p>“Jon can’t help it that the part of him that’s an incredibly spooky google only has incredibly spooky things to say.” Tim reasoned, Martin still holding the pen delicately out of Jon’s reach.</p><p>“I’m just <em>saying</em>. How about this? Jon gets his pen back if he promises to tell us one good thing in between each ominous and disturbing thing he has to say. Does that sound fair?”</p><p>Sasha looked like she was holding back laughter again, and Tim was just starting to reverse out of the parking garage, a grin reflected in the rear-view mirror.</p><p>Jon huffed a frustrated sound, and then held out his hand for the pen again, looking at Martin expectantly.</p><p>“I’m going to take that as a yes.” Martin passed Jon his pen back, enjoying the way Jon’s eyes flashed at him as he snatched it back.</p><p>“Are we going to get sick then if we don’t go back to the office?” Sasha asked casually as Tim drove them out of the security gates.</p><p>“Uhp! He’s got to tell us one happy fact too. Don’t forget the happy fact.” Tim added, turning out into the street.</p><p>Jon was already scribbling on the page, Martin leaning over to read what he was writing.</p><p>“He says that we may be immune because we’re technically with the Archive right now.  What does that even mean? Oh, and cats have nearly twice the amount of neurons in their cerebral cortex as dogs.”</p><p>Sasha did laugh at that, the sound bursting out of her. “Was that a cat fact?”</p><p>Jon’s face flushed and he seemed to bristle, his shoulders bunching up, before he shoved the notebook away from him and opened the book on his lap, holding it up to cover his face while the other occupants of the car laughed.</p><p>Martin thought it was incredibly cute, watching Jon fluster, and he could tell he wasn’t actually reading the book he held, mostly just using it to hide behind, his eyes still a honeyed brown.</p><p>“Everyone got enough travel sweets?” Tim called out from the front seat. “We’ll be on the road for nearly two hours, depending on traffic, so if you need to stop and get something let me know now before we hit the M40.”</p><p>“Oooh, travel sweets. Yes please.” Sasha enthused, treating the trip like a fun excursion.</p><p>And at that they set off to Banbury.</p><p>Jon seemed jumpy at first, as though expecting they’d be beset by monsters the instant they left the safety of Tim’s flat, but eventually he relaxed, letting the chatter wash over him, his shoulders easing bit by bit.</p><p>The drive was pleasant, banter flowing freely. At one point Tim decided to polish his karaoke skills, singing along to the radio, trying to get them all to join in despite Martin’s pleading not to. Jon had retreated into the pages of one of the books he brought along by the time they got the phone call, the call patching through to the car’s Bluetooth.</p><p>“Stoker?” It was Basira Hussain’s voice, ringing in through the speakers.</p><p>“Speaking.” Tim replied. Jon didn’t look up, still speed reading through his current novel, but Martin and Sasha exchanged a glance, staying silent while Tim took the call.</p><p>“It’s me, Basira. We spoke at the police station the other day. Forensics came back with the prints on the mask and we got a match in the system for Elias Bouchard and a Peter Lukas. The name ringing any bells?”</p><p>“Peter Lukas is a donor for the Institute. Jon mentioned he’d been involved with the kidnapping.” Tim explained. “Do you have enough to prosecute from that or –“</p><p>“Well we checked the Institute this morning. We had a warrant to find Gertrude’s body and we extended it a bit to cover the rest of the Institute. Checked out Artefact Storage for that computer room you were talking about but there was nothing there. Just a weird foggy warehouse, no kidnap room. No one seemed to want to give us any answers either. It was like pulling teeth.”</p><p>“Yeah, they’ve got a lot of those in Artefact Storage.” Tim joked and Basira was quiet for a moment.</p><p>“Right. Anyway. We did find Gertrude’s body, but so far forensics haven’t found any evidence to prove Elias was the one to pull the trigger. There’s no murder weapon, no witnesses and I’m pretty sure your monster friend’s evidence is inadmissible. All we’ve got is a load of tapes and a body. Best we can do is make Bouchard a suspect in an active murder investigation, and that just means he can’t leave the country. Doesn’t mean we can put him away.”</p><p>“Right.” Tim looked back at Jon, who didn’t seem to register the conversation at all, his head still buried in his book. “Not exactly what we were hoping for, but I guess it’s better than nothing.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t leave London either.” Basira insisted bluntly.</p><p>“Yeah, about that.” Tim trailed off helpfully.</p><p>“Stoker.” Basira warned tersely.</p><p>“We’re just out visiting someone today, not out of the country. Just an hour or two away. We’ll be back in town tomorrow though.” Tim explained while Sasha elbowed him and hissed.</p><p>“<em>Why are you telling her that! Just say we’re in London</em>!”</p><p>“Is that James?” Basira asked curtly. “Stoker, where are you?”</p><p>“Oh – we’re breaking up – sorry, we’re breaking up – <em>Sash toss my phone at Jon real quick</em> – terribly sorry!”</p><p>“Stoker!”</p><p>The phone fizzled out into static as Sasha leaned into the back seat and tapped it against Jon’s knee, the device fizzling out when it made contact with him.</p><p>“That was probably a bad idea.” Martin uttered, looking at the now dead phone in mild shock.</p><p>“Yep.” Tim gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, keeping his eyes on the road. “Definitely a bad idea.”</p><p>“Did he hear any of that?” Sasha looked into the backseat, Jon still stiff as a statue, eyes green and focused on the pages he consumed.</p><p>Martin shook his head and Sasha pursed her lips.</p><p>“Probably for the best.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When they arrived in Banbury they decided to stop for lunch before heading off to Upton House.</p><p>Jon scribbled down something about staying in the car so as not to draw unnecessary attention to the group, but Tim had planned ahead.</p><p>Rummaging through the boot of the car he retrieved two items, a black cloth face mask, and a comfortable looking hoodie.</p><p>“See, you can wear these. The cloth mask makes people think you’re a conscientious young man invested in the health of those around you, and the hoodie –“</p><p>“Makes them hella suspicious of you and totally negates the face mask.” Sasha interrupted, crossing her arms and frowning.</p><p>“It’s less suspicious than walking around with a hulking great metal gag on.” Tim argued.</p><p>“Look, have you got a hat? A hat is less suspicious than a hoodie and a mask.” Sasha insisted. “He’ll look like he’s about to rob someone. If you give him a hat, he’ll just look like an ordinary bloke who’s got a cold.”</p><p>“<em>I</em> don’t look suspicious in a hoodie.” Tim grumbled, rifling through the car boot.</p><p>“That’s because you’re a handsome white Asian bloke.” Sasha nudged him with her shoe. “People see you in a hoodie and just think you’re a personal trainer or a gym junkie.”</p><p>Tim withdrew a red beanie from the trunk of the car and held it to his chest as if deeply flattered. “Sash. You think I’m handsome?”</p><p>“Oh, leave off. Give Jon the hat.” Sasha scoffed quickly, snatching the hat from Tim and tugging it on Jon’s head, fussing until the metal gag was covered by the mask and the hat.</p><p>Jon sat sullenly in the car still, clutching the notepad and pen, scribbling a message.</p><p>
  <em>YOU SHOULD JUST LEAVE ME IN THE CAR. </em>
</p><p>“Jon –“ Sasha started, her hands on her hips, but Jon kept writing.</p><p>
  <em>TOO MANY PEOPLE HERE. </em>
</p><p>Jon’s hands were clenched tightly around the pen and he looked even more withdrawn than usual, hunched over making himself smaller.</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t think. Agoraphobia makes sense I guess but –“</p><p>Jon shook his head and continued writing.</p><p><em>NOT AGORAPHOBIA. JUST TOO MANY PEOPLE</em>.</p><p>Sasha looked stumped by that, frowning trying to wrap her head around it.</p><p>Martin asked gently. “In what way?”</p><p>Jon’s eyes flicked up to Martin’s face briefly, and he could see green hinting at the edges of his iris before he set his eyes to the paper again.</p><p>
  <em>THE MORE PEOPLE THERE ARE THE MORE LIKELY IT IS THAT ONE OF THEM WILL HAVE A STATEMENT. </em>
</p><p>“Oh.” Sasha read, puzzling over what that could mean. “So, does that mean you’re hungry?”</p><p>“I thought you just had four books in the car.” Tim asked. “Was that not enough or –“</p><p>Jon shook his head again before writing, the pen heavy on the paper.</p><p>
  <em>THE BOOKS ARE NOT THE SAME. THEY HELP BUT IT’S NOT A MATTER OF SATING AN APETITE. IF I CAN SENSE SOMEONE NEARBY WITH A STATEMENT IT GETS HARDER TO CONTROL MYSELF. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN… I’LL TRY. </em>
</p><p>“What’s the worst thing that can happen? Someone tells you their story?” Tim probed, but Sasha answered for him, her tone oozing certainty.</p><p>“Nightmares.”</p><p>Jon nodded guiltily, locking eyes with Sasha. She knew how bad they were, she understood why Jon didn’t want to inflict that on anyone.</p><p>“We’ll just have to keep an eye on you then.” Sasha nodded. “And you can tell us if it gets too much. We can just leave if it does. You can’t force people to give you their stories without speaking, you mentioned, so you’ll just have to ride it out.”</p><p>Jon nodded, steeling himself for the experience. He stood up and Martin closed the car door behind him, the group making a beeline for the nearest café.</p><p>“Shame there’s no Pret here, we could just grab a croissant and be off.” Tim remarked as the group slid into one of the booths in the café, Sasha grabbing a menu.</p><p>“You seriously want to go to Pret A Manger? They’re worse than Starbucks.”</p><p>“How are they worse than Starbucks?” Tim scoffed.</p><p>“French coffee is not better than American coffee.” Sasha argued.</p><p>“American coffee is 70% cream and sugar, that’s not an indicator of quality.” Tim argued.</p><p>“They do this.” Martin quietly explained to Jon, who sat next to him boxed in against the wall in the booth, to lessen temptation should he encounter someone with a statement to give. “Like, all the time. I have to say, its actually quite nice not to be the third wheel for once. Having you here is – good, it’s good. Better, for sure.”</p><p>Jon looked over at Martin, his big brown eyes meeting Martin’s own like they’d done it hundreds of times before.</p><p>Martin had to stop finding everything about Jon endearing, his own internal monologue had been gushing poetically while he sat next to Jon in the car, and again now, fawning over how well they both fit into the booth together, how small Jon was sitting next to him, how soft his hair looked and how nice the brown of his eyes were, peeking out from behind the face mask and the hat.</p><p>It was starting to bleed through into his conversation, rambling slightly the more aware he became of how close he was sitting next to Jon, how their arms could brush accidentally, how warm he was, and so on, and while conversations with Jon could often seem one sided, rambling like this probably wasn’t doing Martin any favours.</p><p>Jon’s eyes softened like he was smiling at Martin, and he took out his pen, writing on the back of a serviette.</p><p><em>YOU TOO.</em> He wrote, and then remembered to clarify. <em>HAVING YOU HERE. IT’S NICE. </em></p><p>“Oh?” Martin flustered. “I – um – thanks. I guess anywhere is better than Artefact Storage though.”</p><p>Jon rested his elbow on the table, propping his chin up with his hand, shrugging.</p><p>
  <em>THERE ARE WORSE PLACES. </em>
</p><p>“That’s … disturbing. I think that means you owe me a cat fact now.”</p><p>Jon’s eyes flashed back to Martin’s face in amusement, feigning restraint for a moment before scribbling down.</p><p>
  <em>CATS SLEEP 12 HOURS A DAY ON AVERAGE. </em>
</p><p>“The good life. You’ll make me jealous. I love a sleep in.”</p><p>Jon looked at Martin again, that fond look that might have been a smile.</p><p>“How many hours of sleep do you generally get?”</p><p>Jon seemed to consider that, tapping his fingers against the metal covering his chin before he wrote.</p><p>
  <em>3.</em>
</p><p>“Jon!” Martin chided. “Is that a monster thing, or were you like that before?”</p><p>Jon looked sheepish, which was answer enough.</p><p>“Unbelievable. Well, you seemed to sleep a little last night at least.”</p><p>Jon shrugged again, flipping the napkin over to write on the back.</p><p><em>I DON’T NORMALLY SLEEP WELL. NIGHTMARES</em>.</p><p>“Oh. That’s -” Martin’s brow creased, a frown forming unconsciously.</p><p><em>HAVING YOU THERE HELPED</em>. Jon added, as though eager to chase that frown away. It worked, startling Martin with this unexpected sincerity but the moment was interrupted by the sudden silence that fell over the table.</p><p>Looking up, both Tim and Sasha were watching them with identical devious grins on their faces, their heads tilted together, completely in sync. The effect was unnerving to say the least.</p><p>“Oh, don’t let us interrupt lovebirds.” Tim grinned leisurely, enjoying the way the two men blushed, Jon looking away while Martin seemed to puff up with frustration, his face nearly as red as his hair.</p><p>“We’re not – Tim!”</p><p>Sasha leaned forward and snatched Jon’s napkin, Jon reaching for it a second too late.</p><p>“Let us in on the goss then. What sweet nothings have you been whispering to each other? Oh! Did you know Tim that cats sleep 12 hours a day?”</p><p>“The lucky bastards.”</p><p>Eyes scanning the napkin Sasha looked for more teasing fodder but stopped suddenly.</p><p>“Oh Jon. You have nightmares too?”</p><p>Jon seemed to freeze before nodding.</p><p>“The – the same ones as mine?” Sasha guessed, a part of her already knowing the answer. “Statements?”</p><p>Jon nodded again uncomfortably.</p><p>“All the statements?”</p><p>Sasha was becoming uncannily accurate with her guesses, judging from the guilty look on Jon’s face.</p><p>Sasha seemed to consider that for a moment, before she put the napkin down on the table. “That’s got to be rough. Just dreaming about two of them was bad enough. I’m sorry Jon.”</p><p>Jon looked flabbergasted, every inch of his expression seeming to say without words ‘<em>why on earth are you sorry</em>?’.</p><p>Before Sasha could explain, a waitress approached their table.</p><p>“Are you ready to order? Any drinks to start you off?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, I’ll have a cappuccino and the chicken burger. Sash you wanted the –“</p><p>“Pumpkin risotto please. And a mocha.”</p><p>“And Martin, what would you like?”</p><p>“Oh, I’ll have the er – the club sandwich and a hot chocolate?”</p><p>“And for you?”</p><p>The waitress looked expectantly at Jon who was studiously looking away from her, his hands curled into fists underneath the table, fingernails biting into his palms.</p><p>His eyes were averted but Tim could see the slightest hint of neon green burning under his eyelashes and as a heavy pressure began to build in the silence, he could only assume the waitress had a statement to give.</p><p>“He’s not hungry!” Tim blurted out, despite all evidence to the contrary. “Feeling a little ill today actually.”</p><p>“Oh no. Maybe some ginger tea to settle the stomach?” The waitress asked. Jon didn’t respond, funnelling all his energy into holding himself back, and once again Tim answered for him.</p><p>“Sure! Thanks. Can we have it all to go actually?”</p><p>The waitress nodded and left for the kitchens promptly. Jon looked up at Tim in askance.</p><p>“Well, it would’ve looked suspicious otherwise, not getting you anything.” Tim explained the order for the tea. “Although not as suspicious as your eyes going full on Danny Phantom.”</p><p>Jon seemed perplexed by the reference, raising an eyebrow, but his eyes were still glowing green.</p><p>“Did she have a statement?” Sasha asked, and when Jon’s eyes flicked to her she felt pinned by his gaze, having to struggle to breathe normally. “God, dial it down a bit Jon. You’re really –“</p><p>Jon’s eyes widened, and he looked down at the tabletop abruptly, cutting off the pressure.</p><p>“That was intense.” Sasha remarked, rubbing her chest. “All that for one statement?”</p><p>Jon shook his head, not chancing to look up at the others.</p><p>“More than one statement?” Sasha guessed. “How many?”</p><p>Jon held up five fingers, still studying the whorls on the wooden tabletop. Martin was starting to notice them shifting slightly, each of the whorls in the wood looking more like an eye, the wood darkening like a slitted pupil in the middle.</p><p>“Five statements? Just in this restaurant?”</p><p>“Well Upper Slaughter is just on the other side of the Cotswolds, that’s got to mean something.” Tim hazarded a guess flippantly, his guess confirmed by Jon’s resigned sigh. “You’re shitting me.”</p><p>Jon shook his head, and looked up, his eyes thankfully brown once more.</p><p>“Right, well we’ll get our food to go then head out. No sense tempting fate. On to Upton House then!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When the group pulled up to Upton House the road approaching the building was littered with signs advertising the gardens and where the car park was and so on.</p><p>“Are you sure this Salesa lives here Jon?” Sasha asked sceptically. “It looks like a tourist attraction, not a residential area.”</p><p>Jon sat in the back seat, looking as baffled as she was.</p><p>“You don’t know?” Sasha twisted in her seat to look at his dumbfounded expression.</p><p>Jon only shrugged, looking more than a little confused.</p><p>“How can you not know? I thought <em>knowing</em> was your thing?” Tim asked, turning into the car park. Jon just shrugged again, before reaching for the notepad and pen.</p><p>
  <em>I DON’T – SALESA LIVED AT UPTON HOUSE WHEN – WHEN THE WORLD ENDED. I JUST THOUGHT – </em>
</p><p>“So we don’t know if he’s here at all.” Tim surmised, parking and turning around in his chair to read the page. “We probably just wasted a trip.”</p><p>
  <em>HE HAS AN ARTEFACT THAT HIDES HIM FROM THE ENTITIES – I CAN’T SEE EXACTLY WHERE HE IS BUT HE HAS TO BE AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE. </em>
</p><p>“He has to be, or he is? Do we just walk around and ask?” Martin asked, looking at the signs around the car park. “It’s just 5 pounds if we wanted to have a walk around. The gardens actually look quite nice –“</p><p>“Oh sure, we’ll just pop out of London during an active police investigation while our evil boss is probably plotting against us to take a scenic walk through one of the stately homes of Britain. Excellent idea Martin.” Tim said scathingly.</p><p>“Well it wouldn’t hurt to canvas.” Sasha reasoned. “He’s a 6’7” Samoan guy covered in tattoos. If he’s skulking around here, <em>someone</em> had to have seen him. Maybe we can ask the staff?”</p><p>Tim sighed. “Alright. We can go for an hour, have a bit of a frolic, and canvas the locals. But if we don’t find him, or a place that sells picnic food and Pimms it’s back to the drawing board.”</p><p>“Alright Dad.” Sasha rolled her eyes, grinning at Jon and Martin in the backseat. “Come on then! Let’s go have a frolic. Jon looks like he could use a good frolic.”</p><p>Jon, who had never frolicked before in his entire life, found himself rather taken with the idea. He looked at Martin, who smiled at him encouragingly, before he nodded, smiling underneath his mask.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the archivist can have a little frolic... as a treat</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Salesa wasn’t found anywhere in Upton House, nor in the gardens. Tim encountered a stuffy staff member who refused to disclose any details of previous guests to him citing a dedication to public privacy.</p><p>That same staff member felt congenial enough to mention to <em>Sasha</em> that a man matching the description she provided had been to visit Upton House several times on the regular since the start of the year. He had been banned from returning last week after staff members discovered him burying something in the gardens. He even provided the dates and times when the ‘islander fellow’ came by, being very forthcoming to Sasha but swearing up and down to Tim that he would never divulge such details.</p><p>Chalking it up to creepy ‘Archivist Powers’ they met up with Martin and Jon in the gardens, sitting on the grass next to a plot of daffodils. Martin was laughing when Tim and Sasha approached, an unrestrained mirthful sound that they didn’t hear enough of in the office.</p><p>Walking over the crest of the hill it soon became apparent why.</p><p>Some of the moths and butterflies that frequented the gardens found themselves flocking to Jon, their brightly coloured wings flapping in the air around him. At first this seemed merely a coincidence, but as Sasha and Tim came closer they could see that all of the butterflies had very prominent eyespots on their wings.</p><p>Jon tried swatting a few away but they kept landing on his clothes, several perching on his hat, their wings open as if crowning Jon’s head with their many eyes.</p><p>“Did someone dunk Jon in sugar water or something?” Tim quipped, walking over to their spot, settling down on the grass beside Martin.</p><p>“No, they’re just obsessed with him.” Martin laughed, pointing to the words scrawled on Jon’s notebook. “Apparently they’re native to Mexico – Owl Butterflies. Not sure how they got here but they <em>really</em> like Jon.”</p><p>Jon seemed unimpressed and scowled, batting a few more of them away with some irritation.</p><p>“That’s a little cute.” Tim mused. “Creepy, but cute.”</p><p>“Well, while you were making friends with the local wildlife, we found out our man Salesa has indeed been to Upton House recently, but he got banned from the place last week.” Sasha divulged with a shrug, holding her hand out for one of the butterflies to land on. “Might still be in the area.”</p><p>“We spoke to one of the guests who runs a bed and breakfast in Ratley, just up the road. Apparently Salesa’s been renting a room there.” Martin informed the group cheerfully. “So, I guess coming here was not a <em>total</em> waste of time.”</p><p>“Alright Martin, you win. Coming here was a good idea.” Tim conceded and Martin puffed his chest out a little, looking rather pleased with himself. “So are we sticking around to have a bit of a tiptoe through the tulips or should we bung off to Ratley now?”</p><p>“What do you think Jon?” Sasha looked over to Jon to notice that the butterflies all flapped their wings at the exact same time he blinked at her. “Okay, those things <em>are</em> creepy.”</p><p>He shook his head and flailed his hands around his head, shooing the butterflies, managing to dislodge a few of them, the butterflies flapping lazily away.</p><p>
  <em>WE CAN GO. </em>
</p><p>“Aww, you don’t want to say goodbye to your friends?” Sasha teased, waving her hand at the butterflies that lingered in the daffodils, their eye spots staring at Jon wistfully.</p><p>Jon rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose a belaboured sigh before picking up his notebook and primly walking back towards the manor house.</p><p>“Carpark’s the other way!” Tim called out helpfully behind him and Jon stopped abruptly in his tracks, reluctantly shifting direction, proving that being an all-knowing avatar of an entity of beholding could only take one so far.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Upon arriving in Ratley the Archival team drove to Mount Farm Park bed and breakfast, asking after Mikaele Salesa.</p><p>The concierge didn’t recognise that name in the guest ledger but from the description given he advised that Salesa had stepped out on an errand a short while ago. Salesa had not advised when he would be back.</p><p>“So mysterious smuggler’s errand, or has he just popped out to do some dry cleaning?” Tim pondered.</p><p>“We could split up and search around town. That worked well enough last time.” Sasha offered.</p><p>“Split into pairs again?” Tim asked.</p><p>“We’ll cover more ground if we go individually.” Sasha reasoned. “It’s not a big town, so it’s not like looking around will take us long. We can split up to search along the high street and meet back up in half an hour in front of the village hall.”</p><p>“What about Jon?” Martin asked. “Is he going to be alright on his own considering?”</p><p><em>I’LL BE FINE</em>. Jon scribbled down with assurance. <em>I DON’T HAVE TO HOLD A CONVERSATION WITH ANYONE TO LOOK AROUND. </em></p><p>“Alright fair point.” Tim nodded. “You take one side of the High Street, Sash you take the other, and Martin and I can go up Chapel Lane?”</p><p>And with that they split up, tackling a different part of the village each. Jon found himself wandering the high street, having to rely on his own two eyes and wits rather than his eldritch powers to find Salesa, finding the experience almost refreshing.</p><p>The last time he’d been blinded like this was in Upton House during the apocalypse, and the experience left him rather drained. To experience sightlessness without the physical consequences was almost a relief.</p><p>It felt like clawing back his humanity, a detachment from The Eye, and he wondered if this is what a life free of The Eye’s influence would be like. Wandering down the high street of a quiet English hamlet, taking in the sights with his own two eyes instead of being inundated with eldritch knowledge. He was still learning unprompted pieces of information about the town, it’s history, its inhabitants, but nothing about Salesa that he couldn’t intuit from what he already knew about the man.</p><p>There were quite a few antique shops in the area, which might have been what drew Salesa to the area in the first place. Jon passed a chemist, a hairdressers, an Oxfam and a Waitrose, peering about as he passed each building looking for the smuggler.</p><p>It was just as he approached the Waitrose that Jon paused, recognising the all too familiar feeling that he was being watched. It was almost something he could ignore, having spent so long under the surveillance of the Eye or Elias, and he almost would have dismissed it.</p><p>The Eye’s surveillance had a very different flavour though. Perhaps it was precisely because Jon was so familiar with Elias and The Eye’s brand of scrutiny that he felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck.</p><p>This didn’t feel like he was just being watched.</p><p>It felt like he was being stalked.</p><p>Jon froze in front of the Waitrose and turned around scanning the crowd for threats when he locked eyes with her.</p><p>Daisy.</p><p>Jon knew he shouldn’t run, that running when faced with a Hunter was tantamount to suicide, but he could see the knife on her belt, see the savage glint in her eye.</p><p>His only other option was to talk his way out of this, but he didn’t think Daisy would be charitable enough to let him write down an explanation and he couldn’t talk much less reason with her with his mouth welded shut by the gag.</p><p>The Daisy he knew might have listened, but this Daisy hadn’t rejected the Hunt yet. It seemed she hadn’t rejected the Hunt at all, instead relishing in its power.</p><p>She stared down Jon wolfishly, her entire body tense and ready to spring, predatory and strong. For a moment Jon saw her with claws and fangs, a ghoulish creature, and his leg throbbed in remembered pain, his heart beating in his throat.</p><p>Her hand moved to her belt, and Jon panicked, his senses drowned out by the memory of her low growl.</p><p>
  <em>Fine. You brought a knife, so we go through the voicebox. </em>
</p><p>He was afraid. His entire being was dictated by the fact that he was afraid all the time. It was what he was best at after all.</p><p>Acting on that fear, Jon turned and ran.</p><p>He could hear her sprinting after him, and he veered into the Waitrose, his hope being that she wouldn’t attack him in a public place.</p><p>That hope was dwindling by the second.</p><p>The grocery store was practically empty, only a few bored looking staff manning the tills and hardly any customers in the store. It mustn’t have been peak time.</p><p>Daisy was hot on his heels, and Jon darted down one of the aisles, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor.</p><p>Looking over his shoulder Jon didn’t notice the other man in the aisle until he bumped right into him, staggering back upon impact and knocking the man’s jammy dodgers to the floor.</p><p>“Oi, watch where you’re going mate – oh-“</p><p>Mikaele Salesa took in Jon’s panicked wide glowing green eyes, recognition dawning, and he reached into his bag, feeling for the camera in there reflexively.</p><p>“Any chance you can pretend you didn’t see me, Watcher?” Salesa asked with a tight smile.</p><p>Daisy barrelled down the end of the aisle, her hands splayed like claws, trapping Jon between her and Salesa, growling.</p><p>“Oh.” Salesa said again in that same affable tone. “Looks like you’ve got bigger problems.”</p><p>Jon looked between Daisy and Salesa, reaching out to snag Salesa’s arm before he could leave, beseeching him for help with his eyes.</p><p>“I’m not getting in between a hunter and her prey, mate.” Salesa shrugged. “Even for a watcher.”</p><p>“You know what he is then?” Daisy grunted, assessing Salesa as a threat now, her eyes razing over him. She took a step forward, and then another, blocking Jon’s exit. She took in the way Jon desperately clung to Salesa’s arm. “Seems like he knows you.”</p><p>“Never met him before in my life. Don’t imagine there’s a lot he doesn’t know though.” Salesa looked down at Jon, his eyes still smiling without a hint of pity in them.</p><p>Abruptly he twisted Jon’s arm behind his back, holding him out for Daisy. Jon cried out, the sound muffled by the mask, struggling reflexively.</p><p>“Here, you can have him on the condition you leave me be, Hunter. I’m trying to stay off the radar myself, can’t really have his sort snooping around. It’s bad for business.”</p><p>“What business?” Daisy growled, taking another step forward, the knife in her belt something Jon was keenly aware of.</p><p>“The business of staying alive. Go on, you can have him. You’ll have to kill him quick.”</p><p>Jon’s chest rose and fell, his panicked breaths increasing as he struggled, Daisy stepping closer and closer, pulling the knife from her belt and flipping it around in her fingers until the knifepoint was pressed against Jon’s stomach, the hunter still staring down Salesa.</p><p>“Still trying to decide if I’m not better off killing you both.”</p><p>“You’ll want to kill him first.” Mikaele warned. “You’ll be regretting it the second he opens his mouth.”</p><p>Daisy laughed, a sharp sound. “You don’t know, do you?”</p><p>There was a pressure building in the room, a weight that could be attributed to the tenseness of the situation if you weren’t acquainted with the power of the Archivist. It was a terrible building thing. The withheld breath of one raptly focused on a story, the nauseous gasp of second-hand horror, the pressure building in one’s throat when trying not to scream.</p><p>Jon’s eyes were glowing, leaving burning green trails in the air around him and his panic had him grasping for help from something greater than himself.</p><p>“Know what?” Salesa paused, and then seemed to choke on the air itself, the pressure finally registering.</p><p>Daisy tensed as well, the muscle in her neck jumping as she was glued to the spot, something unfurling in the air above them.</p><p>A manifestation of fear, Jon’s fear, pinning them to the spot. A burning lidless eye hovering in the air above freezing them in place as Jon’s sclera was overtaken by a bright blazing green.</p><p>And then it blinked.</p><p>The tense silence was jarred by the cashiers at the registers in the front of the shop suddenly all screaming in unison.</p><p>“I KICKED THE LADDER OUT FROM UNDER MY STEP-DAD WHEN I WAS NINE. I STOLE MY NEIGHBOUR’S ARGOS PACKAGES LAST CHRISTMAS-“</p><p>“I CHEATED ON MY GIRLFRIEND WITH MY COUSIN. I WORE MY MUM’S UNDERWEAR TO MY SENIOR FORMAL –“</p><p>Out on the street outside the screaming confessions continued.</p><p>Turning off Chapel Street on the other end of the High Street Tim was startled by an elderly man walking his dog suddenly stopping still in his tracks and bellowing.</p><p>“I USED TO DREAM THAT MY FAMILY ALL DIED IN THE BLITZ. I PRETEND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO WORK MY TELEVISION SO MY GRANDCHILDREN WILL VISIT ME. I’VE NEVER LOVED MY WIFE AS MUCH AS I LOVED MARGERY BANKS FROM –“</p><p>Sasha was walking up the other side of the street, equally unnerved when the people all around her suddenly started screaming, the words compelled from them while she was unaffected. The screaming was unnerving, so loud that she was certain there would be bloodied throats in the aftermath. She ran across the street spotting Tim, grabbing his arm.</p><p>“What’s going on?”</p><p>“Something must be wrong with Jon. It’s too spooky not to be him.” Tim guessed, looking down the high street to where green clouds began to swirl above the Waitrose like a hurricane. Running towards it, Tim tugged Sasha along behind him. “Come on!”</p><p>Martin was hurrying towards the Waitrose too as though pulled by the growing sense of foreboding, shocked when the group of churchgoers on Chapel Street all began shouting their sins at once, loud enough to make Martin nearly jump out of his skin. He could see the green storm brewing above the grocery store and raced over there, bumping into Sasha and Tim out the front.</p><p>“What’s happening? Everyone is -”</p><p>“Everyone but us, looks like. Jon’s in trouble. Come on.” Sasha gestured for Martin to follow, running into the supermarket.</p><p>There was a large green eye floating above one of the aisles that was a pretty clear indicator of where Jon was, like a distress flare lidless and oppressive, and beneath the screaming confessionals of the cashiers Sasha could feel that breathless heaviness choking the room.</p><p>Running down the aisle, Sasha could see Detective Tonner frozen, the muscles in her neck straining as she tried to move her hand forward, brandishing a knife at Jon who stood in front of a large Samoan man, his arms pinned back uncomfortably. The Samoan man, presumably Salesa seemed similarly frozen, sweat glistening on his forehead from the strain of being so pinned by the gaze of The Eye.</p><p>Jon’s eyes were burning, that acidic green haloing the air around him. He didn’t look in control of himself at all, but Sasha could see that he was scared. Beyond scared, he was terrified.</p><p>“Jon!” Sasha croaked, feeling the weight of the eye upon her.</p><p>Wading across the aisle, feeling like she was walking through butter Sasha pushed forward, calling out Jon’s name.</p><p>He was unresponsive, but the eye above him glanced at Sasha, and then looked at Tim and Martin behind her, pinning them to the spot.</p><p>“Sash.” Tim grunted. “Can’t move. Do something.”</p><p>Sasha pressed forward, managing one step, then another. She Knew that her burgeoning powers as Archivist were the only thing protecting her from being slowly choked into submission by The Eye, and she Knew that she had to get to Jon.</p><p>Stepping up next to him now, panting from exertion, Sasha slapped the knife out of Daisy’s hand, pushing Salesa off Jon before throwing her arms around Jon’s neck, whispering in his ear.</p><p>“Forgive me for this, okay? You’re going to be okay.”</p><p>And then she put her hands over his eyes.</p><p>The stasis that filled the room suddenly cut short, the eye above them blinking out of existence. The cashiers stopped screaming, and Detective Tonner regained control of her faculties, slamming into both Jon, Salesa and Sasha and tackling them all to the floor in a heap.</p><p>Daisy headbutted Jon roughly, his head bouncing on the floor and let out a shout lunging for her knife, raising it high in the air preparing to slam it down into Jon’s chest but Tim caught her arm.</p><p>“Don’t!”  </p><p>Salesa groaned and tried to shove Sasha and Jon off him, but Martin stepped up behind the big Samoan man, blocking his path.</p><p>“That thing’s a monster.” Daisy growled, trying to wrestle the knife back from Tim. “I need to kill it.”</p><p>“You’d really stab him while he’s unconscious? Just stop! He’s not hurting anyone anymore.”</p><p>“I don’t care – I –“</p><p>“Is everything alright down there?” One of the store staff wandered down the aisle, croaking a perfunctory question as though the previous several minutes of regurgitating their deepest secrets at the top of their lungs hadn’t happened.</p><p>“Fine.” Sasha spoke up, sitting upright now, her hands still held over Jon’s eyes. He wasn’t moving, passed out probably, but Sasha wasn’t taking any chances. “We just fell. We’ll be fine.”</p><p>Daisy stilled, yanking the knife from Tim before slotting it back on her belt warily, watching the staff member calculate their odds, before backing away slowly.</p><p>“Well, I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Salesa started, sitting up slowly. “It’s been great, but –“</p><p>“You’re not going anywhere Mikaele Salesa.” Sasha decreed; her eyes burning green, her voice heavy with the Archivist’s power. “We need to talk.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“So there are two Archivists now. Or the Archivist and ‘the Archive’.” Salesa observed, sitting at the table upstairs in his room at the Mount Farm Park bed and breakfast.</p><p>Jon was still passed out, laying on Salesa’s bed, Detective Tonner’s tie blindfolded around his eyes. She’d tied up his hands and feet too for good measure, despite the protestations of the Archival team, their arguments folding easily after what they had just witnessed.</p><p>“And they just so happen to know exactly where to find me? Is my camera a dud or something?”</p><p>“What?” Detective Tonner scowled from the corner of the room.</p><p>“I’ve got a magical camera that hides me from the entities.” Salesa explained jovially, tapping his camera bag for emphasis. “It’s done me well so far. Might have to trade it in now though.”</p><p>“No, Jon didn’t See where you are. He already knew.” Sasha pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to explain. “What I mean is he didn’t See see, I – Jon’s from the future –“</p><p>“This again.” Daisy scoffed, crossing her arms and leaning against the far wall sullenly.</p><p>“And he knew that in the future.” Sasha spoke over Daisy’s protestations. “You’d be hanging around Upton House. That’s where he found you in the apocalypse. He said it was like a bubble you made that the end of the world couldn’t touch.”</p><p>“He said all that to you?” Tim raised his eyebrows. “When did –“</p><p>“Okay, he didn’t say it to me.” Sasha stressed, rubbing her temples. “Obviously, because he can’t talk. I knew, I – I knew because he knew. He let me know it. I – oh god, is this making any sense?”</p><p>Martin shook his head, grimacing.</p><p>“Your eyes are still a little green.” Tim pointed out and Sasha groaned, covering them with her hands and pressing down as though pressing hard enough would stamp the unnatural green out of her irises.</p><p>“Right. Anyway!” Sasha shook her head, turned and pointed to Salesa. “He didn’t Know know you’d be here, but he knew you’d be around here.”</p><p>“Huh.” Salesa said, nodding thoughtfully. “Okay, I believe you Archivist. I was trying to make Upton House my backup plan should one of the entities rituals go off, because I like the place and if the end of the world hits I don’t think the British stately homes association will be needing it on account of the hellish reality of a world they would come to inhabit. So yeah, that tracks. Looks like my camera still does the trick. Can I go now?”</p><p>“No!” Sasha said, a little too loudly. “No. We – we need an artefact from you to help Jon.”</p><p>“Do you know what artefact exactly?” Salesa probed sceptically, and Sasha pushed her hair back from her face in frustration.</p><p>“No. That was – that’s what we need to find out. We need something that can get the metal gag off Jon’s face – something that won’t hurt him in the process, and he seemed to think you knew something that would fit the bill. Do you?”</p><p>“Huh. I do.” Salesa simply said again, sitting back a little in his chair. He twiddled his thumbs for a moment before he peered up sceptically at Sasha. “Are you sure you want to? Get the gag off, I mean.”</p><p>Sasha blinked at Salesa blankly, looking almost affronted by the question.</p><p>“It’s just that I’ve heard stories about people like you. Magnus Institute employees.” Salesa went on. “They all sign a contract see, that demands they protect the Archive. Doesn’t seem like much, just a standard clause that makes sense, don’t destroy the files you’re working with, yadda yadda – but when the Archive is a person that should change things. Little details like that can be tricky. How can you know that your loyalty is for your friend Jon, to help him? How do you know you’re not just being loyal to the Archive because your contract tells you to? You might be manipulated that way.”</p><p>“Manipulated by our work contracts?” Tim asked sceptically. “The contract also says you can’t steal company property but I’ve got a draw full of stationary at home that says otherwise. So if that’s the angle you’re going for, I’d guess again.”</p><p>“I – Jon’s our friend. We’re not being forced to –“ Sasha stuttered, fighting the part of her that feared Salesa wasn’t lying.</p><p>“Didn’t you only meet him properly a day or two ago? Awfully fast to get to know a person enough to trust them with such a dangerous power, if you ask me.”</p><p>“Dangerous power?” Martin raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Letting him speak. If you think he’s bad now, you just wait until he gets his voice back. What happened today will look like child’s play.”</p><p>“Jon isn’t going to hurt us.” Sasha argued.</p><p>“Again, you’ve only known the guy for two days tops. Pretty hasty to assume.”</p><p>“I’d say.” Daisy grunted sullenly.</p><p>“I –I don’t think a contract is why we are helping Jon, we – we made our own choices here.” Sasha argued. “You’ve only seen him when he was stressed, when he was scared. You scared him, he just reacted, he – we’re not defending him because of some clause written in our contract that probably doesn’t even apply to –“</p><p>“Contracts can be tricky. The Eye is subtle. It’s like the Web that way. Anyway –“ Salesa clapped his hands on his thighs. “If you say you’re in full cognisance of your actions, who am I to stop you? I know what artefact you need, and with it you’ll have freed one of the most powerful avatars I’ve ever encountered and unleashed his most dangerous weapon on the world. But, if you’ve thought it through –“</p><p>“Hold on!” Daisy stood up straighter, confrontationally. “Explain. If he’s that dangerous, then he’s not waking up.”</p><p>“You don’t get to decide that.” Sasha countered with a viciousness she’d only felt once before, when she told off Elias.</p><p>Daisy looked at her, measuring her up, and from the way her eyes narrowed at Sasha’s it became clear that the green glow was back again.</p><p>Sasha closed her eyes with a groan.</p><p>“What <em>do</em> you mean?” Martin tentatively asked, watching Salesa carefully. “About Jon, how is he the most dangerous – how?”</p><p>“I’ve only ever known an Archivist to be able to do two things. Know things and compel others to tell them things.” Salesa listed on his fingers, his tone as affable as ever. “I used to work with Jurgen Leitner back in the day so I know a bit of the history there. That should be the extent of what an Archivist is capable of. I’ve never known of an Archivist capable of ripping the secrets out of an entire town without saying a single word, never heard of one changing the weather either, reshaping the world like that, and that’s not even touching on the whole giant floating eyeball thing.”</p><p>Tim gave a snort of laughter, although the situation didn’t really warrant it. A laugh born of nervousness perhaps.</p><p>Salesa continued talking, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “It wasn’t an illusion because that’s more the Spiral’s work. The Eye doesn’t do illusions, only truth, so bringing an all-seeing floating eyeball into the world with the ability to freeze people in its tracks and suck the air out of a room? Not really typical Archivist behaviour. If that was him defending himself then giving him what he needs to go on the offensive seems like a really dumb idea. I don’t even want to know what he’s capable of when he <em>can</em> use his words. Maybe whoever put that gag on him was doing you all a favour.”  </p><p>“But – but this is Jon.” Martin argued. “Jon. He tells us facts about cats and he gets embarrassed when he gets lost in a book and he tries to look out for us. He’s been trying to help us all along. I – he’s only ever tried to protect us even when it probably got him in trouble with Elias, and that’s not even starting on what he must have gone through trapped by Elias in Artefact Storage. Elias put the gag on him, and I don’t think Elias was doing it to <em>do us all a favour</em>. I know he - he says he’s a monster but I – he wouldn’t … cause an apocalypse or anything. Jon isn’t the type, it just –“</p><p>“We can’t decide for him whether he’s allowed to speak or not. That’s too much like what Douchard did to him.” Tim exchanged a glance with Martin, before solemnly turning back to Sasha. “But if today’s any indicator it’s clear that Jon’s dangerous. Letting him speak - if we’re really having a conversation about whether allowing it is too dangerous, he should be involved. We at least owe him that much. He should have a say.”</p><p>“Oh sure, lets ask the monster. Great idea.” Daisy griped sullenly.</p><p>“Well he wouldn’t have reacted that way if you hadn’t attacked him.” Sasha argued, her tone sharp.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have attacked him if he hadn’t run.” Daisy countered, and Sasha laughed, her eyes brightening once more.</p><p>“Don’t lie to me. <em>Tell the truth</em>.”</p><p>“Alright, I would have attacked him anyway.” Daisy admitted rather quickly. “I did come here to kill him after all. I’ve killed dozens of monsters just like him. I’m good at it.”</p><p>The room fell silent with that admission, Tim and Martin staring at Daisy in shock.</p><p>Sasha’s first response was to feel vindicated, a viciously triumphant feeling, promptly followed by her feeling rather ill. Daisy just said she’s a serial killer, being <em>happy</em> about knowing that was not something Sasha was in any way comfortable with. She shouldn’t be comfortable with it. It was like she didn’t recognise herself for a moment, looking so profoundly satisfied that she’d forced Daisy to out her lie.  </p><p>Slapping her hands over her eyes she groaned. “Sorry, sorry.”</p><p>Salesa let out a long whistle, diffusing the tension. “This one’s an Archivist alright. Pulled the truth right out you, copper. I think the monster/human ratio is split right down the middle now.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Daisy said, looking between Salesa and Sasha now, counting the people in the room and reassessing them as a threat.</p><p>“There’s the Archive passed out on the bed there, whatever the Archive really is. There’s the baby Archivist and then there’s you, the Hunter.” Salesa explained with a wide smile. “And then the rest of us humans.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> human.” Daisy insisted from between gritted teeth. “I’m <em>not</em> a monster like them.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Salesa laughed. “If you’re so sure, how did you find him then. The Archive. How did you track him down?”</p><p>Daisy blinked, thrown by that, before looking down at her hands, as though seeing inhuman claws in place of her fingernails, horrified.</p><p>“Obviously you’ve got a lot to think about.” Salesa clapped his hands together. “Again, I’m happy to trade the artefact you’re looking for to help with your friend’s problem, but might I suggest you talk to a friend of mine before you get the thing off him? The last time someone as overpowered as the Archive here stepped on the scene her people helped contain the danger- prevented the whole world from going up in flames.”</p><p>“Okay, how do we find her.” Tim nodded expectantly at Salesa.</p><p>“Oh, you don’t find her. She finds you. She’ll know where you are. She has her ways.” Salesa grinned, looking rather like he was in on a joke that nobody else was. “Tell you what, you talk to my friend, and then I’ll see about getting you the artefact you need. No strings attached, at least not from my end. Then when you get the artefact, you leave me be and promise never to find me again. Sounds like a deal?”</p><p>“That’s it? We just leave you alone? You don’t want money or anything?” Tim asked, doubtful that it was a simple as that.</p><p>“I’ve got nothing against a good bit of cash, don’t get me wrong.” Salesa said with a wry grin. “But money can’t buy anonymity from the gods, and if your Archive and Archivist promise not to look for me – well, then not even death itself can find me.”</p><p>Sasha clenched her fist, trying to hold back the anxious sickness building in her throat. “How do we know you’re good for your word?”  </p><p>“You’ll know, Archivist. You’re coming along very quickly.” Salesa nodded at Sasha with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “The most accelerated Becoming I’ve ever seen. You’ve gone from human to 50 in what, a day? That’s something else alright.”</p><p>Sasha swallowed, and looked up at Salesa’s knowing grin, before glancing at Jon, still passed out on the bed. Her head was so full of new information, a dizzying amount of it, her vision tinting green on and off, and the way Salesa kept smiling at her only tugged on the part of her that wanted to wring all the secrets from the smuggler and slap the knowing smile off his face.</p><p>She didn’t think like this, she didn’t act like this. She didn’t like what she was becoming. She never wanted to be a monster.</p><p>“I need some air.” Sasha decided, heading for the door.</p><p>“Sash – do you want –“ Tim offered, ready to spring in to help her but she shook her head.</p><p>“Stay with Jon.”</p><p>And at that she left the room, closing the door behind her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The grounds outside of Mount Farm Park bed and breakfast were wide open fields leading to neat gardens, and as Sasha walked further away from the building itself her breathing quickened, the panic she’d been holding back before tumbling out of her in stuttered breaths.</p><p>With large quick strides she crossed the field surrounding the hotel and stopped against one of the trees on the far side of the estate, next to a small hedge maze, leaning heavily on the tree trunk before sinking to the ground.</p><p>Sasha was hyperventilating now, her panic choking the small sobs that slipped their way out of her now that no one was there for her to hold it together for.</p><p>The hedge and the grass were a vibrant green, and Sasha couldn’t tell if they were green because they were well kept or if they were green because everything was green now. She couldn’t tell, and it frightened her how fast she was turning into something inhuman, into a monster.</p><p>It had frightened her since Jon first mentioned Elias wanted to groom her into one, but she’d been working with Elias for months without any noticeable change. Now after spending just a day or two with Jon she’d progressed into a fully fledged Archivist and it scared her.</p><p>She didn’t want to be the Archivist.</p><p>She wanted to help Jon like the others did, of course she did, but the others didn’t have to deal with the nightmares, or the knowing, and the others weren’t turning into monsters just by being around him.</p><p>It was too much.</p><p>Sasha didn’t let herself cry like this very often, but when she did she always felt like a child, a wailing child, unreserved in her anguish, letting the emotion overcome her and crash over her life a wave, before being washed out on the other side of it, clean again.</p><p>It was a private thing, crying, which is why she was startled when she heard another voice gently shooshing her.</p><p>“There, there, Archivist. It’s okay.”</p><p>Wiping her face and looking up, Sasha was startled to see a yellow door set into the green grass beside her, opening the ground up, the mellifluous being within propped up on his elbows on the edge of the door watching her with sympathetic spiralling eyes.</p><p>Sasha blinked at Michael, dumbstruck.</p><p>He blinked back.</p><p>“Well at least you didn’t scream this time-“</p><p>Sasha screamed and kicked Michael in the face.</p><p>Michael caught her foot with one of his impossible hands and huffed, pushing it away.</p><p>“Rude Archivist! Has no one taught you manners? I was being <em>nice</em>!”</p><p>“Go away! Get away from me!” Sasha insisted, scrambling back against the tree trunk warily, her cheeks still wet. “What do you want? What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Why, I simply wished to <em>comfort</em> you Archivist.” Michael insisted, pillowing his arms on the edge of the doorway and resting his chin on them, like a swimmer poking their head out from a pool. “Is it so terrible to talk with someone who can relate? It’s not like any of the others can. <em>They</em> aren’t being made into monsters.”</p><p>“You –“ Sasha paused, considering Michael’s words. “How can you relate?”</p><p>“Michael Shelly didn’t want to be a monster.” Michael said simply, his features seeming to glitch between human and inhuman, the spirals in his hair turning into curls, then back into spirals, the smile on his face flickering between a fractal grin and a smaller more affable smile, like the sort Martin makes when he brings Sasha tea.</p><p>He seemed to be making an effort to show Sasha the human within the Distortion.</p><p>“I – I thought you said you’re not Michael Shelly.” Sasha croaked, her voice thick with tears. “I thought you said he died.”</p><p>“I’m no more Michael Shelly than you are the Archivist who came before you, I said.” Michael tilted his head at her, his voice sounding like windchimes. “But that seems to be changing.”</p><p>“For you?” Sasha probed.</p><p>“For you.” Michael answered, leaning his head back to shake out his hair into the kaleidoscopic hallway behind him before watching her patiently again. “Do you like yourself better this way?”</p><p>“What?” Sasha gawked at the question, thrown aback by it.</p><p>“I’m sure it’s a lot to adjust to, yes, and your becoming was less of a gradual decline and more like – like opening a door and stepping through. Yes. But you do feel stronger, don’t you? And that scares you?”</p><p>“Why are you so interested in what scares me?” Sasha scowled, wiping her cheeks dry. “Want to see me ‘hold fear’ or whatever?”</p><p>“That’s how he does it, you know. The Archive. He holds fear. That’s why he’s so powerful. Don’t you want to be strong, like him? To protect your friends from –“ Michael trailed off her, looking intently at the grass growing at the edge of his door, before his eyes flicked back to her curiously.</p><p>Sasha frowned at Michael, his vague hinting frustrating her.</p><p>He blinked at her and his eyes lit up an acidic neon green, mirroring her own.</p><p>“I’d lean into it if I were you.” Michael chirped, threading his fingers together coyly. “Your enemies have power. Why shouldn’t you? You <em>are</em> stronger now.”</p><p>“I don’t –“ Sasha hesitated, unsure if she should be confiding in Michael at all. “I don’t feel stronger.”</p><p>“You feel overwhelmed.” Michael correctly assumed. “It’s quite the state of being for myself, constantly drowning and burning and turning through sensation and sights. Unlike in my case, for you it will pass. You’ll be overwhelmed at first, but then understanding will settle in its place. And you Archivists do so love to understand.”</p><p>He said that almost bitterly, jealous perhaps that there would be a cessation of feeling overwhelmed for Sasha. Even though he practically spat the words, Sasha did feel relieved at the thought that this tumultuous upheaval would have an end in sight.</p><p>“Are you … so you’re –“ Sasha probed, feeling a little sorry for Michael, until his smile split his face like a kaleidoscope.</p><p>“Fractals upon fractals. And fractals have sharp edges. They like to cut me when I think, but thinking is so very hard. It won’t be hard for you. It will be your strength, your … power. For you I’m sure it’s not a bad thing.”</p><p>“What happened to Michael Shelly?” Sasha took the moment to ask, pity brewing in the back of her mind.</p><p>“I’m not Michael Shelly.” Michael simply replied with a breathy sigh. “Not anymore. Identity is hard. A lot of things are hard. I thought making a friend would be easier.”</p><p>“I thought the Spiral was false friends and lying.” Sasha recounted, remembering Jon’s warning.</p><p>“Don’t you think it’s just a little bit sad?” Michael asked, his bottom lip jutting out like a caricature. “That I’ve never had a real friend? I’m sure I’d like to know how.”</p><p>Sasha pursed her lips together in frustration, looking at Michael like he was a particularly stubborn puzzle, but looking at him for too long gave her a headache, so she looked away, at the grass, which was starting to look a little brown in places now. Not so well kept after all.</p><p>“It might be … nice. For you to have someone to talk to.” Michael continued. “And I’m certainly enjoying our talks, especially given how awash with confusion you were just now, but that seems to be clearing up. I guess that means I was … helpful, yes? That is what I mean to be.”</p><p>“So I’m supposed to believe you’re trying to help me?” Sasha raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“I am trying, even though trying is terribly hard. If I wanted to simply make a meal of your disorientation I would have already.” Michael coasted his fingers across the grass, trimming each blade with a fascinated precision. “Maybe I’ve snacked a little, but what’s lunch between friends, hmm?”</p><p>“Ugh.” Sasha scoffed, and pushed up to her feet, brushing the grass off her skirt.</p><p>“Let me help you.” Michael entreated again.</p><p>“I am not –“ Sasha started stubbornly, but Michael spoke over her.</p><p>“We’re the same now. Both inhuman. Monsters you would call it. You’ll begin to find there are quite a lot of us out there, and not all of them so congenial.” Michael dipped his head down behind his door playfully, just his eyes poking out of the top. “You know this already. You’ve met Jane. You’re a practical girl, Sasha James. A curious one too. I think you know the value of having friends. Think of it as a backup plan, I know you already have one in mind.”</p><p>“For?” Sasha prompted, narrowing her eyes at Michael’s swirling features.</p><p>“You know.” Michael winked and lay further back in his doorway, floating on the edge of it, corridors stretching out below him, the Distortion hovering weightlessly in the chasm like he were soaking in a hot tub. “Have fun with it, why don’t you? You only get to do this once, after all.”</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>Michael sunk back down into the corridors below until only his face floated on the surface, his eyes closed contentedly.</p><p>“Metamorphize. Evolve. Ascend.”</p><p>And with that, he sank all the way down into the corridors and the yellow door creaked closed, dissolving into the grass.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Jon woke up his eyes were covered. He blinked them open, his eyelashes dragging against what felt like fabric, and he couldn’t see anything.</p><p>He reached weakly up to push away the fabric covering his eyes and registered that his hands were bound together, his feet too. He felt a frisson of panic, half expecting to hear Elias’ voice in his ear, to feel his hands on his shoulders.</p><p>
  <em>You didn’t think you could get away from me that easily, did you? You know where the Archive belongs Jon.</em>
</p><p>When he felt a hand come down on his arm, Jon’s whole body tensed, terrified.</p><p>“- not going to just leave him like this.”</p><p>“You are <em>not</em> untying that thing.” That was Daisy’s voice. Jon relaxed a little, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He wasn’t back at the Institute, he was with Daisy, and Martin, and Tim.</p><p>“Ridiculous. I’m not going to – Jon.” Martin’s voice came, closer to Jon, and he recognised it was Martin’s hand on his arm.</p><p>His whole body sagged in relief. It was just Martin.</p><p>“Jon, are you okay? He’s awake. Jon, I’m going to untie your hands –“</p><p>“Don’t –“ Daisy growled.</p><p>“Calm down John McClaine, he’s not going to hurt anyone.” That was Tim’s voice. “He can’t exactly give you any answers if he can’t write them down, can he?”</p><p>Daisy grumbled a sound of assent and Jon could feel Martin’s hands gentle on his wrists, pulling the bindings off him and moving down to do the same to his feet. The moment his hands were free, Jon’s fingers came up to feel over his eyes, moving across until he found the knot of the tie blindfolding him.</p><p>He fumbled with the knot, struggling until Martin’s hands pressed lightly over his own. “Here, let me.”</p><p>Jon’s hands fell away shakily, and he allowed Martin to reveal the world to him, blinking in the sudden light with wide brown eyes.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” Martin was sitting next to him on Salesa’s bed, Daisy’s tie in his hands, his freckled skin creased with concern.</p><p>“Here.” Tim passed Jon his notebook and pen, and Jon took it, pushing himself to sit upright, looking around the room.</p><p>Daisy sat in the reading nook by the window, curled in on herself, watching Jon warily. The way she sat made it seem like she was holding herself back, which was better than her attacking him or brandishing a knife.</p><p>There was a flushing sound, and then Salesa returned from the room, opening the door to the ensuite and sliding his phone into his pocket, pausing when he saw Jon.</p><p>“Oh. Awake now, are you watcher? You want to explain what happened back there?”</p><p>Jon frowned at the man, looking between Daisy, Tim and Martin, before writing down.</p><p>
  <em>WHAT HAPPENED? </em>
</p><p>“You don’t remember?” Martin looked at Jon in askance.</p><p>“The floating eyeball? The mass paralysis?” Tim listed, watching Jon sceptically. “The part where everyone in Ratley started screaming out their deepest darkest secrets for the whole world to hear? Any of that ringing a bell?”</p><p>Jon seemed shocked, for a moment, blinking at the floral duvet as though it could jog his memory, before writing.</p><p>
  <em>I DID THAT? </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, you did.” Tim confirmed, raising an eyebrow.</p><p><em>BUT, I CAN’T DO ANYTHING WITH MY MOUTH SHUT. I CAN’T DEFEND MYSELF, I -</em> Jon wrote down, the confusion evident on his face. <em>ELIAS SAID</em> –</p><p>Martin looked between the page and Jon’s face as he registered what he wrote, his face twisting in frustration and grief before he pinched the bridge of his nose as if nursing a headache.</p><p>It wasn’t enough, and soon Jon was cradling his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.</p><p>“A forthcoming chap that Elias.” Tim joked, although the joke was strained. “Leaves out a lot of crucial stuff. You can’t quit the Archives once you sign a contract, there isn’t actually an all-knowing supercomputer in the basement, and Jon can spookify a whole town, he just didn’t know it.”</p><p>“Tim –“ Martin started, seeing tears begin to well in Jon’s eyes, one trailing down his cheek onto the metal mask when Jon squeezed his eyes shut.</p><p>“It can’t be a good feeling, knowing you could have fought back all along. That’s the thing about clever traps, though isn’t it? You never truly leave them.” Salesa guessed, observing Jon’s grief like it was a crossword in the Sunday Times, detached yet interested. “And there’s nothing quite like suffering in silence to make someone feel helpless. The entities are good at that. Bouchard’s done a bang-up job with you."</p><p>Jon opened his eyes to glare wetly at Salesa, who just shrugged, completely unaffected.</p><p>“They’re your lot, the Eye, not mine Archive. Speaking of which, your colleagues and I struck up a deal.”</p><p>“No, you don’t.” Daisy growled from the corner. “It’s too dangerous. If you think you’re just going to let it speak –“</p><p>
  <em>THE DEAL IS TO TAKE THE GAG OFF? </em>
</p><p>Jon hesitated, before putting pen to paper again.</p><p>
  <em>DAISY IS RIGHT.</em>
</p><p>“Jon –“ Martin started, his voice chiding.</p><p><em>I LOST CONTROL AND I HURT PEOPLE WITHOUT EVEN REALISING I WAS DOING IT</em>. Jon continued to write, his brow furrowed. <em>THE EYE FED ON THE SECRETS OF AN ENTIRE TOWN BECAUSE OF ME. I DON’T WANT TO HURT ANYONE, NOT ANYMORE. I’VE DONE ENOUGH.</em></p><p>Daisy got up and walked over to the bed to read what Jon had written and narrowed her eyes.</p><p>“Anymore. It’s hurt people before. For all we know it used to hurt people all the time.”</p><p>“He’s not an ‘it’ –“ Martin argued protectively, but Jon continued writing.</p><p>
  <em>I DID HURT PEOPLE. THE ENTIRE WORLD WAS REMADE INTO A CONTAINED ECHO-CHAMBER OF SUFFERING TO APPEASE THE ENTITIES OF FEAR. BECAUSE OF ME. ELIAS MADE IT HAPPEN. HE MOULDED ME INTO A LIVING ARCHIVE OF FEAR AND SENT ME HIS STATEMENT AND WHEN I STARTED READING, I COULDN’T STOP. THE WORLD REMADE INTO A FEEDING GROUND FOR THE FEARS. EVERYWHERE I WENT I WAS SUBJECT TO THEIR VICTIM’S SUFFERING AND COULD PULL STATEMENTS OF THEIR TORMENT FROM THE AIR ITSELF. IT WAS MY FAULT. </em>
</p><p>“Jon.” Tim asked, his tone somewhat strangled. “Are you saying you caused the apocalypse?”</p><p>Jon looked up at Tim and nodded grimly.</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>By the time Sasha returned to Salesa’s hotel room, an argument was underway. It was more of a screaming row actually.</p><p>“WELL HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW? DON’T YELL AT ME –“</p><p>“YOU’VE BEEN DEFENDING IT ALL THIS TIME AND HE CAUSED THE BLOODY APOCALYPSE!”</p><p>“STOP SHOUTING YOU GUYS!”</p><p>“YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST LET ME KILL IT!”</p><p>Jon was sitting curled up small on Salesa’s bed watching the argument unfold with a worried expression, Tim and Daisy screaming at each other head on while Martin stood between them and Jon, Salesa sitting in his desk by the corner watching it all unfold with an amused expression.</p><p>Exhaling a loud sigh, Sasha closed the door behind her.</p><p>“Right, what’s going on?”</p><p>“Did you know Jon caused the apocalypse?” Tim asked Sasha abruptly, his tone still loud from the argument.</p><p>Sasha blinked, then looked at Jon, meeting his eyes for a long moment. A flare of green passed between blinks, and Sasha raised her eyebrows, her shoulders falling back in shock.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“So it’s true?” Tim seemed like he didn’t know whether to be aghast or vindicated by this.</p><p>“That’s why you freaked out before, isn’t it?” Sasha asked Jon, seeming to have an entirely different conversation with him than the one Tim and Daisy were having. “It wasn’t because I covered your eyes, it was because you couldn’t stop reading. Once you start, you can’t -”</p><p>“Oh great, she’s a mind-reader now? She’s a mind reader, and he caused the apocalypse!” Daisy exclaimed, the words bursting out of her abruptly.</p><p>“And you’re not human either, hunter. Don’t forget!” Salesa pointed out cheerfully.</p><p>“Oh shut up!”</p><p>“Can you – read his mind I mean?” Martin asked somewhat more politely.</p><p>Sasha paused, looking for the right words. “Not really. It’s more like … knowing each other. Knowing the truth. I know his truth, and he knows, obviously.”</p><p>Jon looked somewhat perturbed, before scribbling down.</p><p>
  <em>HOW DO YOU KNOW? </em>
</p><p>“Apparently I’m not human anymore either.” Sasha revealed with a tense sigh before walking over to the armchair in the corner and slumping down into it, her words coming out bitter. “So, thanks for that Jon. Thanks a lot.”</p><p>Jon looked visibly distressed, looking down at his hands and Sasha as though horrified. He underlined the word how, looking at Sasha in askance, and she pursed her lips before answering.</p><p>“I’m the Archivist now, apparently. First Head Archivist, and now <em>The</em> Archivist. You <em>expedited</em> my Becoming.” Sasha made air quotations with her hands, before looking dully at Jon. “Well, you managed it much quicker than Elias. It took him two years to make you a monster, you did it in two days. I know its not the same as what he was on about, marking me with each of the fears or whatever, but it’s still a bit of a leap between normal human Sasha James from yesterday who sometimes forgets what day it is, and this. You wanna explain how that happened?”</p><p>Jon looked lost, his hands clenching and unclenching around his pen. He looked at Sasha, unsure, as though measuring how developed her powers were, sitting back in shock.</p><p>He seemed to think hard on this for a while before he shakily put pen to paper.</p><p>
  <em>JORDAN KENNEDY. </em>
</p><p>“Who?” Martin asked, reading over Jon’s shoulder.</p><p>
  <em>HE WAS AN EXTERMINATOR. HE WAS - I – HE CURRENTLY WORKS FOR THE ECDC I THINK, THEY HIRED HIM AFTER HE ENCOUNTERED THE WASPS NEST IN JANE PRENTISS’ ATTIC, SO NOW I GUESS HE - HE DID – IN THE FUTURE, IN THE APOCALYPSE HE – HE WAS SUFFERING. I WANTED TO HELP HIM, I –</em>
</p><p>“What?” Martin pressed when it looked like Jon was struggling to write down the words.</p><p><em>I TURNED HIM INTO AN AVATAR. AN AVATAR OF THE CORRUPTION.</em> Jon confessed, the words stark and horrifying on the page. <em>BUT – BUT I DIDN’T THINK – I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO IT TO YOU – I DIDN’T SAY THE WORDS – I DIDN’T ASK – </em></p><p>“Well, its not like you can use your words now anyway.” Sasha pointed out. “But somehow you still managed it. I – I feel –“</p><p>Jon looked at her in horror as her eyes glowed the same neon green his own did, the glow leaving burning trails in the air around her as she uttered.</p><p>“I feel as though I’ve been gazed into, and through, and out of me. Harvesting with a thousand, thousand, thousand tiny eager eyes. Gifted power and protection. Made yours.”</p><p>Fresh tears began to slide down Jon’s cheeks, salty and sticky sliding along the metal crease the mask made on his face. His shoulders didn’t shake, but he cried silently as Sasha blinked, the green fading from her eyes as she registered what she’d just said.</p><p>“Yeah, that.” She said, sounding resigned, slumping back down into the armchair.</p><p>Jon’s hands were shaking as he hastily wrote out apologies, the tears leaving silent trails down his cheeks.</p><p>
  <em>I’M SORRY. I’M SO SORRY. SASHA I’M SORRY. I DIDN’T MEAN TO, I -</em>
</p><p>“Can you undo it?” Tim asked, watching Sasha worriedly.</p><p>Jon seemed to consider the option for a moment, looking at the duvet cover with wet eyes before Sasha spoke.</p><p>“I don’t think he should.”</p><p>The whole room appeared shocked, most of all Jon.</p><p>“Hear me out.” Sasha held her hands out in front of her, looking between her friends. “I know it sounds creepy, but power and protection from everything that’s out there, especially now while Jon’s kind of on the run from Bouchard – I reckon we’re going to need it. If he can undo it, great, we’ll do that after everything goes down and Elias is locked away in prison, but until we know we’re safe I reckon it can’t hurt to have another pair of eyes on the lookout.”</p><p>“Pun intended?” Tim asked, as though probing to see if Sasha was still Sasha and not some inhuman replicant.</p><p>“Pun intended.” Sasha confirmed with a wry smile. “I don’t feel different. I still feel like me. Just a little more know-y.”</p><p>“Know-y?” Tim laughed.</p><p>“You know.” Sasha said with a wink, and Tim laughed again, the tension he was carrying earlier all but dissipating.</p><p><em>YOU’RE NOT MAD?</em> Jon wrote hesitantly, as though waiting for her to cast the blame down on his weary shoulders.</p><p>“I’m overwhelmed.” Sasha admitted. “But not – not mad at you, no. The changes are – knowing things is a little hard to take in but maybe if I knew a little more about them and what to expect then I could take it in stride. So far I just know when people are lying, and can make them tell the truth, like I did to Detective Tonner earlier.”</p><p>Jon looked between Sasha and Daisy, who was watching this conversation unfold through narrowed eyes.</p><p>“Neat party trick that.” She remarked disdainfully.</p><p>“If you could put a pin in the antagonism for just a second, that’d be great.” Sasha met her glare boldly. “I know you’re changing too, but if you want answers as to what’s happening to you it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit nicer about it.”</p><p>“Be nice about it?” Daisy laughed disbelievingly. “Sorry we can’t all be well adjusted about turning into monsters. You’ve got a name for your affliction, I don’t even know what’s happening to me.”</p><p><em>YOU’RE BEING CLAIMED BY THE HUNT.</em> Jon wrote down.</p><p>“That’s one of these ‘dread entities’.” Sasha added, filling in the gaps. “I’ve got a piece of paper here that kind of breaks them down.”</p><p>Daisy accepted the page from Sasha, still wary of her, and scanned the page.</p><p>“I recognised monsters on sight.” Daisy explained. “Didn’t exactly categorise them, just killed them. Blood suckers who could talk without speaking. Walking husks full of spiders. Nasty stuff. Thought getting rid of them was doing the world good, but you say I’m turning into one of them?”</p><p>
  <em>THE HUNT IS TRYING TO CLAIM YOU AS AN AVATAR. IT FEEDS ON YOUR BLOODLUST, THE THRILL AND POWER OF THE CHASE, HUNTING FINDING AND KILLING THINGS. SOMETIMES IT MIGHT FEEL AS THOUGH YOUR OWN BLOOD IS SINGING TO YOU, PULLING YOU TOWARDS YOUR NEXT TARGET EVEN WITHOUT YOU KNOWING YOU’RE DOING IT. YOU CAN LOOK AT A PERSON AND INSTANTLY KNOW HOW TO INCAPACITATE THEM AND MAKE THEM HURT. </em>
</p><p>“Doesn’t sound so bad to me.” Daisy shrugged.</p><p>
  <em>THE RELATIONSHIP IS SYMBIOTIC. THE HUNT FEEDS ON YOU IF YOU DON’T FEED IT. GRADUALLY YOU WILL LOSE MORE OF YOURSELF TO IT, AND SHOULD YOU EVER WANT TO STOP IT WILL EAT AWAY AT YOUR STRENGTH THE LONGER YOU DENY IT. I’VE SEEN HOW IT AFFECTS YOU IF YOU TRY TO STOP. </em>
</p><p>“Right, in your <em>future</em>.” Daisy frowned at Jon and then rolled her eyes like it was obvious. “So? I just don’t stop then. Problem solved.”</p><p>
  <em>IF YOU DON’T STOP THEN YOUR PREDATORY INSTINCTS WILL OVERCOME YOUR HUMANITY. YOU’LL BE MORE HUNT THAN HUMAN, A BLOODTHIRSTY CREATURE REDUCED TO CLAWS AND TEETH, STALKING AND KILLING. IN – THE FUTURE YOU – YOU ASKED BASIRA TO PROMISE TO KILL YOU IF YOU WERE –</em>
</p><p>“Don’t you write her name.” Daisy snarled and Jon. “Don’t you even think it.”</p><p>Jon held eye contact with Daisy, stubbornness making him bold as he wrote.</p><p>
  <em>DO YOU THINK THIS IS WHAT SHE WANTS TO SEE YOU BECOME? DO YOU REALLY WANT THIS?</em>
</p><p>Daisy’s jaw worked, grinding her teeth and glaring at Jon, her own stubbornness warring with common sense. She didn’t want to agree with a monster.</p><p>“Why do you care? Just saving your own skin?”</p><p><em>WE WERE FRIENDS</em>. Jon admitted on the page, his previous boldness sputtering under a sudden onslaught of shyness. <em>WE SPENT A LOT OF TIME TOGETHER. YOU MADE ME LISTEN TO THE ARCHERS AND IT WAS TERRIBLE BUT ALSO GOOD TO HAVE SOMETHING AWFUL TO HATE THAT WASN’T TRYING TO KILL ME. THINGS WERE DIFFERENT AFTER THE COFFIN.</em></p><p>“The coffin?” Daisy stared at the words on the page with a stillness that was unnerving. “The one that took Isaac?”</p><p><em>IT TOOK YOU TOO</em>.</p><p>Daisy blanched at that, her hand clenched at her side. Jon hastily added.</p><p><em>I GOT YOU OUT</em>.</p><p>“How?” Daisy gritted out.</p><p><em>I CLIMBED IN AFTER YOU</em>.</p><p>“Do you have a fucking death wish?” Daisy exclaimed, looking at Jon incredulously.</p><p>Tim looked between the two with narrowed eyes before leaning in to whisper to Sasha.</p><p>“Do you know what’s going on here?”</p><p>“I think Jon and Detective Tonner were buddies in the future.” Sasha explained, looking somewhat amused.</p><p>“Okay, so she didn’t try to kill him in the middle of Waitrose in the future or…?”</p><p>“Oh no, she still tried to kill him.” Sasha revealed, almost surprised by the answer. “Oh, Jon. Really?”</p><p>Jon looked between Sasha and Daisy, confused as to what Sasha was lamenting.</p><p>“Your neck.” Sasha sighed, then did an impersonation of Detective Tonner. “<em>That one was me</em>. Seriously?”</p><p>Jon shrugged as though he didn’t get what the big deal was, and Sasha put her hands on her hips.</p><p>“Well obviously we’re not going to be gung-ho about you making friends with everybody who tries to kill you Jon.”</p><p>Jon raised an eyebrow in frustration at her and threw his hands in the air.</p><p>“What do you mean ‘the list wouldn’t be very long if I didn’t’? Jon, I can’t even – how am I supposed to explain to you that you don’t –“</p><p>Jon seemed to huff and crossed his arms.</p><p>“How many people then? Actually, you know what? I don’t want to know.” Sasha scoffed, crossing her own arms.</p><p>“Um, Sasha?” Martin asked, looking between the two of them. “Is … are you talking with Jon?”</p><p>“Giving myself a headache more like.” Sasha rolled her eyes, then paused, catching Martin’s meeting. “Wait. Jon! You – I can hear you!”</p><p>Jon seemed as surprised as she was, and Sasha laughed jubilantly.</p><p>“Incredible! This is going to make things so much easier. I know, and the hand cramps right? God.”</p><p>“This is wild.” Tim looked between the two of them, communicating effortlessly. “It’s like they’re the telepathic twins in a horror movie.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t put it like that.” Martin remarked, smiling slightly. “I mean, it’s good that Jon can communicate now? Better than writing everything down.”</p><p>Salesa who had been texting in the corner while most of this had been going on, looked up and raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Looks like the Archive’s got a mouthpiece now, is what it is. I wouldn’t celebrate yet. Finding the truth and mind reading aren’t normal Archivist powers, not on their own anyway. If you’re an Archivist you’re probably still going to hunger for statements to feed the eye, consume terror, that kind of thing.”</p><p>“I don’t feel like that.” Sasha remarked, considering herself. “I mean, I can tell you have statements galore Mikaele but I’ve not got any urges for them or anything like that. I just –“</p><p>“Maybe you’re not a proper Archivist then.” Salesa shrugged, setting his phone down. “Who knows. If you’ll excuse me though, I have to pop down to the lobby quickly.”</p><p>“Not running away, are you?” Martin asked warily.</p><p>“Not at all.” Salesa replied with a courteous grin. “Just meeting a guest. The friend I mentioned is here.”</p><p>“So when you said ‘she’ll find you’ what you really meant was you’ll text her?” Tim scoffed, amused.</p><p>Jon looked in askance at Sasha.</p><p>“Oh, Salesa said he knows someone who could help uh – how do we explain this?” Sasha paused, looking to Tim and Martin.</p><p>“He’s got a friend who’s prevented an apocalypse before.” Tim tried. “And wants to see if they can help explore our options before he gives us the artefact we need.”</p><p>As Tim explained, Salesa opened the door, and behind it stood a tall thin woman with dark skin and bleach blonde hair wearing a pair of vintage flared trousers and a silver sequinned top. She reached up to give Salesa a peck on the cheek.</p><p>“The concierge told me what room you were in. Hello Mikaele, it’s been a while.”</p><p>When Jon heard her voice his eyes shot wide open and he scrambled back across the bed, falling off the other side of it. He backed up all the way to the wall, looking terrified to see Salesa’s guest, who smiled at him with dark black eyes.</p><p>“Hello Jon. Did you miss me?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Given Jon’s intense reaction to Salesa’s friend, the rest of the Archival team were set on edge. Even Daisy had squared her shoulders towards the woman, her hands splayed as though putting herself between The Archive and the interloper, despite having only decided a minute ago not to kill Jon herself.</p><p>Tim watched the woman warily, taking in her slender form, how young she looked. She had an undercut, the side of her head white and smooth, and looked like she got dressed every morning by diving into the closest vintage clothing store. She didn’t look sinister, but then again Jon didn’t look like much either.</p><p>Passing her coat to Salesa, the woman strode confidently into the centre of the room, watching Jon’s fear with interest.</p><p>“W-who are you?” Martin spoke up, standing now as though ready to throw himself between her and Jon at any moment.</p><p>“Right, introductions. I’m –“</p><p>“Annabelle Cane.” Sasha said, her eyes glowing green. “Avatar of the Web.”</p><p>“Bit rude to interrupt isn’t it?” Annabelle seemed to laugh at Sasha’s display of power, grinning lazily at her. “I know you’re new, but it really isn’t fetching, the whole know-it-all act. I’m here to help after all. Now let me see my favourite pet project.”</p><p>Annabelle waved her hands as if shooing the others away, and much to their horror they stepped back, their limbs tugged by invisible strings, each person cognizant of how their movements were not their own.</p><p>Even Daisy felt herself being pulled back and the muscles in her neck jumped, her entire body straining against the pull. Annabelle patted her on the shoulder as she walked past her, smiling at her blithely.</p><p>“Put the puppy on a leash now. I’m not here for you.”</p><p>Jon was pressed back into the wall as if he could melt through it, shaking his head as Annabelle came ever closer, his hands held up in front of him, shaking.</p><p>Annabelle’s hand shot forward and she grabbed Jon by the metal gag, pulling him forward cooing at him.</p><p>“Oh Jon. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you like this. Out, I mean. Elias was making me look bad, not that he didn’t call me for a few pointers but still. I didn’t think I’d get the chance to play with you again myself. It’s so gauche isn’t it? The mask, it lacks subtlety. But it looks so good on him.” Annabelle gave Jon’s mask a playful shake before pushing him back against the wall letting him go. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, his eyes distant and far away, and a very human brown.</p><p>Annabelle smiled at that, looking back over to Salesa. “So happy you called me first Mikaele.”</p><p>“Just weighing up my options.” Salesa shrugged, clearly unaffected by the strings that held the rest of the group.</p><p>“Starting a bidding war more like.” Annabelle laughed. “It will look like you’re trying to pit the wealth of the Lukases and the Institute against little old me. I bet Bouchard is having a conniption right now, he thinks we’ve been dying to get our hands back on this one. Ever since Mr Spider. I’d squeeze them for every last penny if you can, something tells me that our friend the Archive is worth the big bucks.”</p><p>Tim strained against the threads holding them in place, startling when he noticed them cutting fine lines into his skin the more he struggled. Pulling back and panting, he glared at Salesa.</p><p>“You sold us out. This wasn’t about stopping anything.”</p><p>Salesa shrugged again, holding his hands out in front of him. “Hey, I’m good to my word. I’ve got the key for the storage locker right here, the artefact you want is in there. I just figured I’d call the lovely Miss Cane to cover my exit and make a bit of money in the process.”</p><p>Salesa held the key in the air before putting it down on his desk. He then pulled his suitcase out from under the bed, shoving a few belongings into it before zipping it up and pulling it upright, heading for the door.</p><p>“Don’t think I can trust you Archivist types to let me just go about my business unseen. Kills two birds with one stone this way. I take my camera and go back into hiding a few million dollars richer, and I don’t have to worry about an Apocalypse sprouting out from nowhere.”</p><p>“Nobody wants that.” Annabelle agreed congenially. “Except Elias of course. Certainly not the Mother. It’s win win, really. Mikaele gets his money, you get your key, and I get a delightful meal from dear Jon, who’s been terribly trapped for so terribly long. Gives you shivers just thinking about it!”</p><p>Mikaele gave Annabelle a small salute and laughed, before pulling his suitcase out the door.</p><p>“Won’t be seeing you I hope.” He waved and then left, leaving the group alone in the room with Annabelle Cane.</p><p>“Oh Mikaele.” Annabelle sighed and clapped her hands together, walking over to the armchair and settling in it comfortably. “Such a charming cad that man is.”</p><p>With a snap of her fingers, the bindings holding the team back relaxed, and they all staggered forward, rubbing their arms.</p><p>“What did you do to Jon?” Martin asked, glaring at Annabelle. “Stop it. Let him go.”</p><p>Jon still seemed dazed, sitting on the floor, his chest heaving as he hyperventilated behind the mask. Annabelle simply smiled and sat back in the armchair, crossing her legs.</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t have to pull any strings to make that happen. See for yourself.”</p><p>Martin tested the air around him for the invisible strings and feeling nothing, he crossed the room to squat down next to Jon, placing his hand gently on Jon’s arm.</p><p>When Jon flinched and cringed away from the contact, Annabelle inclined her head.</p><p>“That’s a trauma response. Quite effective. Elias liked to grab him by the mask, yanking him around. Him and Peter Lukas. They’ve left a sizable mark on his psyche, training that sort of forced helplessness into him. I’ve been told he used to be the darling of the apocalypse so to see him like that, well, let’s just say I’m impressed.”</p><p>Martin tried again to gently reach for Jon’s hand, broadcasting his movements so he wouldn’t be scared, and when Jon finally seemed to notice him he all but sagged with relief into Martin. Martin wrapped his arms around him protectively.</p><p>Tim and Sasha both checked for strings around them and finding nothing they stepped in front of Jon protectively, Tim standing guard while Sasha crouched down on the other side of him, thinking comforting thoughts at him and talking him down.</p><p>“What did you do to him?” Tim pressed.</p><p>“I already told you, I didn’t do anything.” Annabelle shrugged and smiled. “I must say its quite endearing to see you all fuss over him, but I suppose the Archivist’s job is to look after the Archive. You all seem to be taking that quite literally.”</p><p>“That’s not why we’re doing it.” Sasha muttered, rolling her eyes.</p><p>“Oh, that’s cute, you think you have a choice.”</p><p>Sasha ignored Annabelle, reaching out to gently touch Jon’s hand, making her presence known to him.</p><p>Jon finally seemed to regain his equilibrium, still clutching onto Martin’s arm, and looked around the room. He gave Sasha a pointed look, and then looked back at Annabelle, despite looking quite uncomfortable when she looked back, that mild amusement dancing in her dark eyes.</p><p>“Jon says you should let Daisy go.” Sasha dutifully, looking over to the corner of the room where Detective Tonner still stood, frozen, her face red from the strain of fighting against the webs surrounding her. She had thin cuts forming across her arms and neck, and her eyes darted between Jon and Annabelle, glaring daggers at the woman.</p><p>“And let her maul me? Not likely. Your guard dog is barely domesticated darling.” Annabelle stretched her fingers out, threading a cats cradle of spiderweb between her fingers, watching Daisy strain against her bonds. “I’m not about to let her off the leash just yet.”</p><p>“She won’t attack you.” Sasha said on Jon’s behalf.</p><p>“You want a bet?” Daisy growled between gritted teeth.</p><p>“You aren’t exactly selling your case dear.” Annabelle laughed. “You wouldn’t back down of your own free will here anyway. Consider it instinct. I wouldn’t expect a rabid dog like yourself to suddenly come to heel without the proper motivation. Still, if you sit like a good girl, perhaps I’ll consider letting you go.”</p><p>Daisy’s nostrils flared, and her expression didn’t change, still livid. She tested the bonds surrounding her, and found that moving forward only exacerbated the cuts, but moving backwards was allowed, the strings herding her to sit in a chair by the window. Without options, Daisy sat down on the chair, her hands clenched into fists resting on her knees.</p><p>“Very good. Now, allow me to consider.” Annabelle said coyly, the strings still keeping Daisy in her place.</p><p>Jon began to stand up, still leaning heavily on Martin’s arm and looked directly at Annabelle. Sasha’s eyes glowed and she spoke for him.</p><p>“It’s me you want anyway. If you let her go I’ll – Jon, don’t.”</p><p>“What?” Martin looked between Sasha and Jon, taking in the serious and tense set of Jon’s eyes.</p><p>“You’ll do what I want?” Annabelle guessed, looking charmed. “What makes you think you aren’t already? I can see why Elias liked you so much. That self-sacrificing streak of yours really is the most effective handle. Did you tell him that as well?”</p><p>Jon blanched when she mentioned Elias, Martin feeling him lean more of his weight against him as though even hearing Elias’ name made his knees weak.</p><p>“He’s relying on that, you know.” Annabelle continued to explain, plucking at the cats cradle in her hands, small spiders manifesting on the threads. Putting on a voice, she imitated Jon poorly. “<em>I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t hurt them!</em> You’re playing right into his hands.”</p><p>Jon paused at that, his brows furrowed in consternation.</p><p>“Why are you telling me this?” Sasha translated for him.</p><p>“Some strings are cut by knowledge.” Annabelle hummed lightly. “Pointing out certain cycles is how those cycles are broken. Knowledge in other circumstances only serves to highlight just how trapped you really are. You’d of course know all about that.”</p><p>She then grinned wickedly at Jon’s stymied expression, a gleeful thing, committing his expression to memory.</p><p>Jon reached a hand out to touch Sasha’s arm, communicating through her again.</p><p>“You’re not one to point out your hand in things. I thought infuriating vagaries were more your speed.” Sasha spoke, her words clipped in a way they usually were not.</p><p>“Who says its my hand I’m pointing out?” Annabelle shrugged. “Can’t let Bouchard upstage me after all. He has a big enough head as it is.”</p><p>“You could just be pretending to sabotage Elias to manipulate us into doing what you want.” Jon countered through Sasha.</p><p>“I could, couldn’t I?” Annabelle laughed, twirling spiderwebs around her fingers heedless of the spiders that lingered in the net. “I could just be giving you the answers you want to hear. Maybe helping you like this is merely my way of nudging you back on track, to coax you towards the outcome the Mother wants for you, or maybe I’ve been doing nothing of the sort, and you’re just isolating yourself, cutting yourself off from another potential ally. Carry on like that and I wouldn’t be surprised if you walked back to Elias on your own behest, to his open waiting arms.”</p><p>Jon made a distasteful expression and Annabelle giggled, flapping her hand at him. “Oh, you always were <em>so</em> easy. Your fear and paranoia does all the work for me. Genuinely, I wish everyone were like you Jon. You’re adorable.”</p><p>“If you’ve just come here to gloat –“ Sasha started, translating Jon’s intent but also voicing some of her own frustration.</p><p>“Can you blame me? I just wanted to check up on my favourite puppet, maybe squeeze in one last dance for old times sake. Do you remember the last time?” Annabelle’s eyes gleamed gleefully. “Elias certainly does.”</p><p>“Stop it.” Sasha said, her words her own. “If you’re just here to play games, you can just leave. We’re not interested.”</p><p>“You’re not interested in my help?” Annabelle placed a hand on her chest, spiders scuttling up to her shoulder. “You’re going to need it. Your Archive is a walking apocalypse, with or without the gag. Without some compulsions to keep him in check he’ll read whatever you put in front of him, consequences be damned.”</p><p>Jon looked shaken by this, obviously rattled by her words. Sasha on the other hand was having none of it.</p><p>“So you all keep saying. Everyone’s deciding that for Jon, nobody’s actually giving him a say, are they? I think you’re all scared to let him speak for himself because when he does –“</p><p>“When he does he’ll tear the whole place down. Has no one explained anything to you girl?” Annabelle raised a sceptical eyebrow at Sasha, like she didn’t think much of her. “You don’t know how all this works, you are pardon the colloquialism a total newbie when it comes to powers beyond your comprehension. I’d shut up and stay in your lane if I were you, before someone takes issue with your attitude.”</p><p>“Hit a nerve, did I?” Sasha smirked, feeling a lot nervier than she usually did. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”</p><p>First shouting at Bouchard, then breaking Jon out of the Archives. Everything felt like a slippery slope of bravery to the point where she was openly goading a woman who could manipulate everyone in the room with invisible razor sharp threads. Still, she couldn’t stop. She felt on fire with righteous fury, like she’d shout down the fear entities themselves if they looked at her friends the wrong way.</p><p>Tim put his hand on her shoulder, intensely proud, Sasha’s gutsiness inspiring his own. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it can you? The elaborate bullshit speeches.”</p><p>“On the Mother, you’re annoying. Nobody asked the peanut gallery, I’m here to speak to Jon. Don’t make me remove you from the room.” Annabelle threatened, cracking her knuckles, then curling her index finger at Jon. “Come here, let me look at you.”</p><p>Sasha and Martin grabbed onto Jon protectively as one of the invisible threads made to yank him across the room. Rather than stop them, Annabelle laughed.</p><p>“Oh, you’re already playing right into his hands.” She cooed, looking directly at Jon. “Do you see how they crowd around you, throw themselves in front of you? Do you really think you deserve it? You’ve already gotten them killed once Jon, a hat trick does seem unoriginal.”</p><p>Jon’s hands spasmed against Martin’s arm then, her words hitting him with targeted precision.</p><p>“Stop it.” Martin said tersely, glaring at Annabelle Cane venomously.</p><p>“You didn’t really think Elias would just let you leave the Institute, did you? There were dozens of ways he could have stopped you. His eyes have been on you ever since you left. He’s probably enjoying the way you’ve been clinging to this sweet little daydream of freedom he’s allowed you to have. Did you feel happy to be with your friends? Do you feel safe with them? Will you treasure these memories when Elias rips them all away from you? Do you miss him?”</p><p>Jon glared at Annabelle, green starting to hint at anger in his eyes.</p><p>“Come here.” Annabelle gestured again, pointing at the floor by her feet. “I’ll even make it easy for you.”</p><p>Annabelle flexed her fingers and the threads surrounded Sasha and Martin’s hands manifested again, pulling them away so she could puppet Jon out of their grasp sufficiently, pulling him with jerky steps across the room until he stood in front of her armchair.</p><p>“Now, I’ll give you a choice. Kneel.”</p><p>“It’s not a choice.” Sasha’s voice called out in that clipped tone, her eyes glowing.</p><p>“Pretend it is. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Clinging to your illusions of free will. Kneel.” Annabelle insisted.</p><p>Jon’s hands clenched by his sides, his arms shaking from the strain of trying to fight the pull. Or fight himself, his own dwindling dignity.</p><p>Annabelle taunted him again, her voice sing song with cruelty. “Kneeeeel!”</p><p>Haltingly Jon descended to his knees in front of her, and she immediately clapped her hands together approvingly.</p><p>“Very good Archive. Obedience is very fetching on you. It’s a shame you belong to Elias. We’d love to have you ourselves, but, well. You’ll always be his Archive.”</p><p>Jon shuddered at that, looking dizzy and weak once more, the words clearly affecting him.</p><p>“Now let me see.” Annabelle reached her hands out, taking Jon by the mask despite how his head spun at that, his hands shooting forward to grasp at her knees, overwhelmed by the contact.</p><p>Annabelle turned his head this way and that, threading her fingers underneath Jon’s hair and feeling the back of the mask, testing the metal gag at various points before pulling Jon’s head forward to rest it against her knee, stroking her fingers through his hair and shushing him like a mother comforting a child. If she threaded webs in Jon’s hair with every pass through, that was her business.</p><p>“Delicious.” She finally said, her eyes blown black with excitement. “While I’m not keen to give Elias the upper hand here, I do rather think the gag suits you. The best help I can give will be to leave you silenced.”</p><p>Jon jerked his head back at that, but she held him firm, forcing this mockery of comfort on him.</p><p>“You can’t do that. We made a deal with Salesa.” Tim argued from across the room.</p><p>“Your deal was with Mikaele, not me.” Annabelle countered, picking Jon’s face up by the gag again and rocking it back and forth like he was a dog. “I can’t let this little morsel have his words back. He’s much better suited as the fly, not the spider. Give him his words back and he could destroy us all. He wouldn’t be able to help it, he was barely in control of himself the last time. He needs to be controlled, monitored for his own sake. You know this, don’t you Jon?”</p><p>Jon looked up at Annabelle, a sort of hopeless resignation in his eyes, both of them brown, rendered powerless by the paralysing contact, both of Annabelle’s hands yanking his mask forward.</p><p>Annabelle licked her lips and smiled, leaning further forward into Jon’s space, drinking in his hopelessness, his misery at being trapped, how utterly pinioned he felt, threaded through with so many plots and plans, skewered between them all.</p><p>She looked exultant, getting off on his predicament, so she didn’t expect to be shoved bodily away from him by Martin, her hands pushed back as he swept Jon out of her grasp, the rest of the Archival team freed from their bonds, the golden web patterned lighter held alight in Sasha’s hand.</p><p>“I said stop it.” Martin repeated, trying his hardest to stand his ground. “He’s not your meal or whatever for you to manipulate until he’s scared enough. Stop messing with him. Just leave him alone.”</p><p>Annabelle gasped loudly, indignantly. “But Martin, I’m just telling him the truth!”</p><p>“Convincing him he’s better off alone than getting help, trying to make him think he’ll end up back at the Institute no matter what he does, alienating him from the people who could actually help him? Yeah, forgive me if I don’t trust your good intentions lady.” Tim smiled humourlessly, cracking his knuckles.</p><p>“You’re pathetic, trying to make it seem like you’re pulling the strings when really you’re just here because you’re jealous Elias beat you at your own game.” Sasha rightly presumed, her eyes glowing green. “You’re not sure if you want to sabotage him or claim the credit. You didn’t help Elias ‘contain’ Jon at all, you just want him to think you did so he won’t fight back.”</p><p>“He remembers me.” Annabelle argued, trying to regain the upper hand by speaking directly to Jon. “You remember, don’t you Archive, when Elias let me play with you?”</p><p>“Elias just let you in there to scare Jon and make him think you were manipulating him.” Sasha revealed, narrowing her eyes at Annabelle. “All you did was loan him one of your web developers to censor the computer interface and tug a few strings to put on a show for Elias, which was horrible by the way, so don’t think you’re ever doing that again. Don’t try to lie to me or make mysterious comments about how involved you are, or that you’re actually pulling the strings here. I know the truth, and the truth is that you’re the weak one here. I <em>know</em> the truth.”</p><p>Annabelle scoffed, looking rather uncomfortable under Sasha’s scrutiny now, and drew herself up to her full height.</p><p>“Cling to the truth all you like. It won’t save you. It won’t negate the inevitability inherent here. Elias will seek to renew his apocalypse, and his Archive will be the catalyst. He is and always has been a mere puppet, pinioned and helpless to the whims of something far far beyond him. He can run and fight and hide behind his friends all he likes, when it boils down to the crux of things, put a statement in front of him and he can’t not read.” Annabelle hissed, standing up from the armchair now that she no longer had Jon prone at her feet.</p><p>She turned her attention back to Jon, who was propped to his feet, Martin’s arm around him protectively. Catching his gaze from between Martin’s embrace, she continued taunting him.</p><p>“Is it instinct that makes you read? Compulsion? Or a string pulled by the Ceaseless Watcher or the Mother of Puppets? You pick up the page and then you’re away, the rollercoaster is dropping, and you’ve no real choice but to hold on and hope that - <em>I don’t crash you</em>. You think-“</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>Annabelle’s lecture was interrupted by Sasha standing next to Daisy’s chair, the lighter held underneath the webs that restrained her, burning away the bindings that held her back. The lighter flared and flame raced over the webs, burning them instantly.</p><p>Daisy stood up. She had small red cuts all over her, but she was free and baring her teeth, panting with exertion.</p><p>“Don’t you –“</p><p>Daisy threw the chair at Annabelle, cutting her off. It knocked the slender woman over and onto the floor, cutting off her ominous speeches.</p><p>Annabelle threw the chair off her, her head bleeding near the temple, small spiders crawling out from under the white silk threaded across her undercut, knitting her skull back together.</p><p>“Dumb dog.” She hissed, looking far from composed as she had when she first walked into the room, clambering to her feet. “A dumb dog and a dumber Archivist. You don’t cross the Mother, and you don’t interfere with her plans. I don’t care about Salesa’s deal, you don’t deserve to find the artefact. You can stay muzzled forever for all I care.”</p><p>She staggered towards the desk, reaching for the key but before she could reach it, a drawer on the desk opened on its own and a long-fingered hand slunk out and grabbed the key, swiping it away.</p><p>Annabelle made an affronted noise as the drawer shut and then walked over to open it again.</p><p>“You dare meddle Spiral? Give it back!”</p><p>The discordant echoing laughter was her only answer, the Distortion having disappeared with the key.</p><p>Annabelle huffed and put her hands on her hips. “You’ve chosen the wrong allies, you know. I don’t have to tell you allying with that thing is madness.”</p><p>“No, you don’t have to tell us anything.” Sasha insisted gamely, having had enough of Annabelle’s mind games. “I think you’ve said enough.”</p><p>“Get out.” Daisy growled at Annabelle. “You might want to run.”</p><p>Annabelle gave Daisy an affronted look, but didn’t need to be told twice. She dusted herself off, glaring at the hunter before walking out of the hotel room, white silk gumming up the lock as she shut the door after her.</p><p>After her departure the room was silent for a while.</p><p>“Aren’t you going to go after her?” Tim asked Daisy.</p><p>“Let’s say I’m giving her a head start.” Daisy replied wryly, wiping the blood off her forearms gingerly.</p><p>“Is she gone?” Sasha asked warily.</p><p>“Think so.” Tim deduced, looking out the window.</p><p>“Is everyone okay?” Sasha looked around at each of them in turn.</p><p>Everyone seemed to be for the most part alright, but then Jon jumped, an abrupt flailing spasm and a spider fell out of his hair. He shook out his hair and his clothes and patted himself down before raising his foot to stomp on the spider.</p><p>Martin shot his hand out. “No need. I’ll take it outside.”</p><p>Jon gave Martin an incredulous look as if to say ‘<em>you want to take the spider outside when the evil spider lady just put it here a second ago</em>’.</p><p>Illustrating his point, Sasha said. “Jon thinks you’re an idiot.”</p><p>Jon then shot Sasha an affronted look, as though distraught at that particular translation.</p><p>“Wow. Thanks.” Martin muttered, bending down to pick up the spider, walking it to the window.</p><p>“Jon says he didn’t mean that.” Sasha followed up, before looking at Jon in askance. “Well, what was I supposed to think ‘<em>are you an idiot’</em> meant Jon?”</p><p>Jon gave Sasha another despairing look, and they seemed to exchange conversation for a while, before Sasha clarified.</p><p>“Jon doesn’t think you’re an idiot Martin. In fact he thinks –“</p><p>Jon shook his head abruptly now, waving his hands in the air as if to cut her off, his face burning red behind the cool metal of his mask.</p><p>“What does he think?” Martin said at the window, having let the spider out, finally turning around to see Jon put his hands down by his side surreptitiously.</p><p>“He thinks you’re great.” Tim surmised cheerfully, looking between the two of them. “Just like the rest of us do.”</p><p>“Gee, thanks.” Martin said, trying to hide how pleased he was.</p><p>“As touching as this is.” Daisy said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I need to call Basira.”</p><p>“Are you going to go after Annabelle?” Martin asked her curiously.</p><p>“I’m staying with you lot. Will go after her later. The way I see it, you lot <em>did</em> have her on the backfoot, and sticking around to find out why seems like the best way to get to the bottom of this. Whatever Bouchard is planning, it seems to revolve around him.” She jerked her head in Jon’s direction. “You’ll need protection. Something tells me she won’t be the only monster coming after him.”</p><p>“You don’t want to hunt Jon anymore? Thought you thought he was dangerous.” Tim pointed out tactlessly.</p><p>“He has the potential to be.” Daisy confirmed. “But apparently that’s twice now he’s sacrificed himself for my sake. Plus, it’s kind of hard to take him seriously.”</p><p>Jon shot Daisy a questioning look at that.</p><p>“There’s a spider on your shoulder.” She deadpanned, and Jon flailed awkwardly trying to brush it off him, despite there not being a spider present at all. When Jon realised it, his shoulders bunched and he huffed like an upset kitten.</p><p>“Point made.” Tim nodded and grinned, putting his arms behind his head. “So what now?”</p><p>“Now whatever she wanted us to do.” Sasha decided for the group, putting her hands on her hips. “We do the opposite. Let’s go find that key.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sasha was nerfed in the og podcast bc she was too powerful, evidently</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Finding the key was harder than anticipated.</p><p>Certainly, they knew who had it. It was clearly the Distortion who took the key, but finding the Distortion proved a little trickier as after his departure Michael did not immediately make his presence known.</p><p>“Do I just knock on random doors? How -?”</p><p>Tim knocked on Salesa’s hotel room door, and then the wall, and then the desk, testing all of them.</p><p><em>IT LIKES HOTELS</em>. Jon wrote down. <em>HALLWAYS. IT DOESN’T HAVE A STRONGHOLD OR DOMAIN PER SE THAT ISN’T ITS OWN CORRIDORS.</em></p><p>“Well, I don’t think we should stick around in this place.” Sasha decided. “The spider lady could come back. I don’t think he’d go for this place anyway. Not enough corridors since it’s just a little B&amp;B.”</p><p>“Why is it helping us anyway? Didn’t he attack you at the start of the month?” Martin asked cautiously.</p><p>“Michael says he wants to be friends.” Sasha crossed her arms. “He’s been trying to endear himself to me, make him seem more human, trying to make me pity him, I think. I do feel a bit sorry for him, but not enough to believe that he’s helping out of the goodness of his whatever. He wants something out of this, even if its just to see what happens when we get Jon’s gag off.”</p><p><em>I’M SURE HE JUST LIKES THE CHAOS</em>. Jon remarked on the page, watching Sasha approvingly. <em>HE WILL OF COURSE HAVE HIS OWN AGENDA. </em></p><p>“Of course.” Sasha nodded. “So, he’ll come to us when he’s ready to hand it over. No point waiting out in hotel rooms on the off chance he’ll return. What makes most sense is to go to Salesa’s storage locker.”</p><p>“Without the key?” Tim asked, cocking his head.</p><p>“Well if he wants to help us he’ll meet us there. If he doesn’t we’ll still have to find another way to get the Artefact.” Sasha reasoned, and Daisy looked at her approvingly as well, reassessing her estimation of her.</p><p>“Know where it is then?” She asked.</p><p>“Er.” Sasha paused, reaching for the information that seemed to come freely to her now that she wasn’t so afraid of the powers she had been gifted. Thinking on the key for a moment, she frowned, before her face lit up, the answer coming to her. “Oh! It’s in Swindon! It’s called the Swindon Space Program and it’s a lock up storage facility next to a hardware shop, a B&amp;Q. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”</p><p>“Who needs google, eh? Just get yourself an Archivist.” Tim joked, pulling out his phone and searching for directions. “Should be about an hour and a half’s drive from here. They’d be closed now though. Do we want to go now, or rest up somewhere for the night?”</p><p>“Let’s find somewhere else. Anywhere but here.” Sasha laughed and rubbed her arms, walking over to the door and trying to yank it open. “Door’s stuck.”</p><p>Daisy walked over to examine the door. “Spiderweb gumming the lock. Let me.”</p><p>Daisy lined her shoulder up with the door, took two steps back and then broke the door down, the lock splintering off the frame.</p><p>Holding it open, she gestured to Sasha. “After you. Time for a quick exit if you don’t want to pay for the damages.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.” Sasha pointed out the irony, stepping neatly through the doorway regardless. “Aren’t you supposed to be a cop?”</p><p>“Different rules for cops.” Daisy lied. “Are you telling me breaking a door is the worst thing that happened in this room today? They’ll bill it to Salesa if anything, and god knows the prick deserves it.”</p><p>“Well, when you put it like that.”</p><p>They filed back to Tim’s car, Daisy following behind them in the cruiser. The moment the car door closed and they were on the road, Tim asked.</p><p>“So, do we trust her? Hunter cop back there?”</p><p>Jon nodded, and Sasha looked back at him.</p><p>“No offence Jon, but you don’t really seem like the best judge of character. She did try to kill you. She might have been different in the future you came from, but we have no guarantees she’s not tagging along just to keep an eye on you. She might still decide to kill you. Are we going to run that risk?”</p><p>Jon looked frustrated by that assessment, but Martin seemed to be taking Sasha’s advice seriously, puzzling it out.</p><p>“It’s not like we can lose her, can we? She found Jon, even if we managed to shake her off on the way down she could just find him again right? With her – hunt powers or whatever it is.”</p><p><em>DAISY AND BASIRA ARE TRUSTWORTHY.</em> Jon scribbled, holding the page up stubbornly.</p><p>“Daisy was ready to stab you in the heart just a few hours ago.” Tim stressed, watching the road in front of him. “Really not seeing the logic behind vouching for them right now bud.”</p><p><em>IT DOESN’T HURT TO HAVE SOME INSURANCE.</em> Jon wrote and paused when Martin gave him a disbelieving look after reading what he wrote.</p><p>“Insurance against what Jon?” Martin pressed, and when Jon seemed lost for what to write in response to that, Sasha groaned in the front seat.</p><p>“My god Jon. Are you always like this?”</p><p>Jon’s shoulders bunched defensively, but he still steeled his jaw and stared stubbornly at Sasha.</p><p>“You know, I’m starting to think that Annabelle was right about you.” Sasha said harshly. “Bouchard probably <em>is</em> relying on you just walking right back to him. It’s like you honestly never miss a single opportunity to sacrifice yourself here, and if you think that’s not exactly what they want for you to do, you’re deluding yourself.”</p><p>Jon reeled back like Sasha’s words had been a literal slap in the face, and Sasha pinched the bridge of her nose, backtracking.</p><p>“Sorry, no I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean – maybe if you didn’t default to putting yourself in danger, they wouldn’t expect it? You don’t <em>want</em> to play into their hands, right? Maybe trusting the people who actually want you safe is the best way to do that. So, trust <em>us</em>. Don’t go throwing your life into the hands of someone who already tried to kill you once.”</p><p>Jon’s brows formed a stubborn line and he underlined his previous statement.</p><p>
  <em>DAISY AND BASIRA <span class="u">ARE TRUSTWORTHY</span>. </em>
</p><p>“Stubborn man.” Sasha bemoaned, but left it at that.</p><p>Martin watched Jon carefully for the rest of the ride, noting the guilty way he seemed unable to meet his gaze as if scared of Martin’s disapproval.</p><p>Tired of seeing him look so on edge, Martin let his hand slowly cross the middle seat between them, giving Jon’s knee a comforting squeeze.</p><p>Watching him knot himself into guilty bunches was painful to look at, and the way Jon’s whole demeanour seemed to sag into Martin’s gesture of forgiveness told him everything he needed to know.</p><p>It was a novel experience to Martin, having someone so dependant on his regard. He wasn’t the sort of person people took notice of, and he was used to having his opinions sit on the outlier of conversation, not really mattering to the group. So to have Jon practically orbit around his regard like this was something to get used to, if he could ever get used to it. It gave Martin comfort that his feelings for the scared damaged man were possibly reciprocated.</p><p>After that Jon seemed to relax more on the journey, casting the occasional silent glance Martin’s way from under his lashes, taking in the details of him. Martin tried hard to pretend that the fond scrutiny didn’t make him blush.</p><p>When they finally arrived at Swindon, the group decided to pull into the Holiday Inn Express, as it was the cheapest place to stay for the night. Tim offered to shell out for a nicer place for the evening, but his offer was promptly shot down.</p><p>“Doesn’t need to be fancy.” Daisy insisted. “You sleep and then you leave. End of story.”</p><p>There wasn’t really any arguing with that, and so the group approached the concierge desk to organise rooms.</p><p>“So can I book you in for 5 singles, or a double?”</p><p>“Er, we can’t all go together?” Sasha asked, feeling a bit like a child.</p><p>“We’re all out of family suites.” The concierge gave the group an odd look at that, taking in how different they all looked before checking her computer. “I have twin single rooms, if that’s acceptable?”</p><p>“I –“ Sasha turned to the others, and waved them into a huddle away from the front desk. “I – this will sound – I –“</p><p>“What is it?” Tim asked curiously, and the words flew out of Sasha’s mouth all in a rush.</p><p>“I don’t want to sleep alone.” She blushed, feeling decidedly vulnerable. “The nightmares, you know. And I don’t think Jon should be rooming by himself either, in case he gets kidnapped again.”</p><p>Ignoring Jon’s affronted look at her wording, Tim started. “Okay, so do you want me to –“</p><p>“Only if you want to.” Sasha rushed in response.</p><p>“Only – only if <em>you</em> want me to.” Tim insisted. “Let’s be real here.”</p><p>“Oh my god you’re nauseating.” Daisy rolled her eyes and turned back to the counter. “Two doubles for the lovebirds and a single on the same floor. One night.”</p><p>The concierge gave them a tight smile and inputted the information before handing them their room keys. “Floor 3, rooms 309 to 311.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A half hour later the team found themselves settled in their respective rooms on the 3<sup>rd</sup> floor, a box of takeaway curry brought to each room from the place down the road.</p><p>Tim and Sasha were carefully skirting around the idea of the double bed in the middle of the room, trading jokes as they both prodded their forks into the box of butter chicken, going over the changes the day brought about.</p><p>“So, Archivist powers. What does that feel like?”</p><p>“It’s – it’s odd. From what I can tell its different to what Jon went through. His transformation into the Archivist was this long drawn-out process, and even when he was at the height of his powers the Eye still was unhelpful. Like, there would be huge gaps in what it would and wouldn’t show him, and the information it did offer him was all useless. If he wanted to know what the entities were planning for example he’d get nothing, but if he wanted to know exactly how long it takes for a burn to eradicate the nerves under the skin –“</p><p>“He’d get the spooky knowledge, but not anything helpful.” Tim summarised, forking another bite of chicken and rice from the takeaway box.</p><p>“But with me, right –“ Sasha continued, her enthusiasm for the phenomenon clear in her demeanour. “I haven’t really struggled to know anything. If I know what I need to know, it just comes to me. It’s not like an intrusive thought or anything, which was the way Jon phrased it. It’s more like I just know what’s true or not, and if I think about something for long enough I’ll be able to know what the truth of it is.”</p><p>“Truth powers then. Not spooky powers.” Tim guessed, speaking with his mouth full.</p><p>“Well, that’s what it feels like, but these powers supposedly come from the entities, right?” Sasha reasoned, prodding her fork under Tim’s and stealing the best piece of chicken from him. “Too slow, hah.”</p><p>“You fiend. So you’re waiting for the catch?” Tim presumed, watching Sasha gobble up the chicken.</p><p>“The other shoe to drop, yeah.” Sasha covered her mouth and replied. “Nobody gets something for nothing, and I don’t really get the impression that these eldritch fear entities are the altruistic sort. These powers are only good for as long as nobody gets hurt. If I can use them to keep people safe then they’re fine, but the moment they try and force some kind of moral event horizon on me, I’m out.”</p><p>“That’s it? You’ll just ollie outie of the machinations of otherworldly fear entities if they tick you off?” Tim questioned, trying to hide his fond amusement.</p><p>“Yep.” Sasha said stubbornly, reaching for the papadums. “Seems fair enough. What? You’re laughing at me!”</p><p>Tim waved a hand at her, holding his left in front of his mouth to stifle his own laughter. “Well, it’s just – I mean, only you Sasha James would have the absolute gumption to go ‘alright fear gods, you either let me use my powers for good, or you can fuck off!’”</p><p>“Well, I mean, what am I supposed to do? Become evil?”</p><p>“No, no, you’re making the right choice. I’m just impressed.” Tim laughed, holding his hands up in front of him. “It’s kind of incredible how you’ve gone from freaking out over <em>pointing</em> at your evil boss to squaring up to a … pantheon of malevolent fear gods. I’m just stuck on the image of you shouting ‘sod off’ to a giant evil eyeball. So much for, you know, not wanting to look ‘too angry’.”</p><p>“Well, if there’s anything to get angry over, I think the literal apocalypse ranks pretty high up on the list.” Sasha joked.</p><p>For a while they ate in companionable silence, before Tim spoke up again, testing the waters so to speak.</p><p>“So, truth powers hey? Is that why you kind of pulled full speed ahead into Jon’s camp.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Sasha asked, polishing off the last of the papadums.</p><p>“Well, I’ve been thinking about what Salesa said. I mean, obviously I feel for the guy, but he’s right, we’ve only really known Jon for a day or two, in person I mean. I’ve been following your lead, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have doubts. I guess I just thought - your truth powers. He is telling the truth, right?” Tim ducked his head, meeting Sasha’s eyes seriously. “Was he – is he our friend?”</p><p>“He is.” Sasha nodded solemnly. “He was – is – was a paranoid bastard but he cared a lot about us. He’s been genuine about wanting to help us, he feels like what happened to us all in his timeline – he thinks it was all his fault. It wasn’t.”</p><p>Sasha was frowning now, getting mad on Jon’s behalf. “It was just bad luck, and nobody was telling him anything. Nobody had the full picture, and everyone was blaming each other, but it was all just rotten luck. If it was anyone’s fault it was Elias’s.”</p><p>“What was the full picture?” Tim probed, watching her closely.</p><p>“Elias.” Sasha pursed her lips disapprovingly. “He picked Jon for the Head Archivist role from the start. He knew he wasn’t qualified, he let so many of the awful things happen to him on purpose, and when I died you –“</p><p>Tim swallowed, a compulsive gesture, his fists tightening on the tabletop. The thought of Sasha dying upset him deeply, and he knew he wouldn’t have taken it well.</p><p>“Nobody trusted each other after that.” Sasha continued. “After I was replaced by the thing in the table. You all thought Jon was stalking you, which he was, but he was paranoid and scared. You got angry when you found out what happened to me – that you could have all gone so long without noticing – but these things do that on purpose, mess with your mind. You couldn’t have known. And then things spiralled, Elias framed Jon for murder, then he distracted you all with stopping the circus and their ritual. By the time you – you died. You didn’t care if you were coming back. I don’t – I don’t want it to get like that again. I don’t want Jon to feel like he can’t trust the people around him, or you to feel like throwing yourself into danger is worth it if you’re dragging the baddies down with you. You and Jon, knowing that you both were so – so self-sacrificing and so hurt by all of this. I don’t want that to happen again. We can’t let it happen.”</p><p>“Okay.” Tim reached out and held Sasha’s hand, wrapping it in both of his own, and repeated. “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay?” Sasha looked up at him questioningly.</p><p>“I trust you.” Tim said sincerely, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’ll trust you no matter what. Even without the truth powers. You were always … the one who could make everything better.”</p><p>He moved her hand in his own, turning it face up and dragging his thumb over her pulse point and palm, looking at her smooth dark skin.</p><p>“If you say he was our friend – is our friend, then I trust you. It’s as simple as that.”</p><p>Sasha’s shoulders slanted downwards as she watched Tim with something akin to wonder dancing in her eyes. His dark brown eyes flicked up to meet hers, and something deeply fond was dancing in them in place of his usual mischief.</p><p>“Do your truth powers mean you can read minds?” He asked abruptly.</p><p>“Oh. Uh, no. They don’t –“ Sasha flustered, her face feeling incredibly hot. She could feel the featherlight touch of Tim’s thumb on her wrist, tracing the lines on her hand, and she could have sworn he was moving closer, leaning his body towards her like she had her own gravitational pull.</p><p>“That’s a shame.” He said, as if he’d been thinking something at her very loudly, hoping she’d pick up on it.</p><p>He was looking at her, his eyes dropping to her lips then back up to her eyes intently. Even if Sasha could read minds, she didn’t need to. He made it obvious.</p><p>“Can I kiss you?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“She’s a bit blunt, isn’t she? Your Daisy.”</p><p>Jon rolled his eyes, scribbling on the notebook that lay between them.</p><p>
  <em>SHE’S NOT <span class="u">MY</span> DAISY. </em>
</p><p>“I mean, not from your timeline no. But you are vouching for her.” Martin picked up his finished takeaway box, putting it in the small plastic bin in the corner of the room. “I guess I’m just … waiting to see the common ground besides being trapped in a coffin together.”</p><p><em>SHARED TRAUMA IS THE FASTEST WAY TO BOND.</em> Jon wrote down, something resembling cheekiness dancing in his eyes. Martin read the page, sitting down next to Jon, exasperated, before meeting Jon’s mischievous eyes.</p><p>“Shared trauma is it?”</p><p><em>SHE DID MAKE ME LISTEN TO 200 EPISODES OF THE ARCHERS. IT WAS VERY TRAUMATIC</em>.</p><p>“Oh, you’re being cheeky now?” Martin raised his eyebrows, trying to smother a smile. “I see how it is.”</p><p>Martin could see from the way his cheekbones seemed fuller that he was smiling behind the mask with a sort of long familiar fondness, and it struck Martin that this might have been the first time he’d seen Jon actually smile, and he couldn’t even see it properly.</p><p>He hated the mask in that moment. He’d just made Jon smile, with all the warmth that engendered, and he couldn’t see it.</p><p>“I can’t wait to get that thing off you.” Martin abruptly said. “It’s unfair that I haven’t actually seen your face properly without it.”</p><p><em>IT’S NOTHING TO WRITE HOME ABOUT</em>. Jon wrote self-deprecatingly, a hint of red creeping up from under the mask.</p><p>“Well, apparently Tim’s met you before. And Sasha can see into your mind or whatever.” Martin tried to keep the jealousy out of his voice, reaching for his earlier humour. “I’m starting to think I’m the only one in the Archives team who hasn’t properly met you without it. Very – very unfair.”</p><p>Jon didn’t seem to know what to write in response to that, his pen held loosely in his hand, hovering over the page. His brown eyes were studying Martin, as if he could find the right thing to say if only he looked hard enough.</p><p>“You – when Sasha speaks for you.” Martin continued hesitantly. “Her voice changes. It’s sort of more – more clipped. Very proper. It makes me wonder what your voice sounds like. If you have an accent? If you say certain words differently from others? So that – the mask – very unfair. That I can’t –“</p><p>Jon’s eyes were wide, watching Martin like he were a precious thing. That this regard he showed was something to treasure, and that made Martin’s stomach backflip something terrible. That this man could give him butterflies just by looking at him like this.</p><p>Jon seemed to startle into remembering to respond, and he paused before writing.</p><p><em>I’M TOLD I SAY YOUR NAME DIFFERENTLY</em>.</p><p>“How?” Martin asked, the words coming out quiet and delicate.</p><p><em>I DON’T KNOW HOW TO WRITE IT DOWN</em>. Jon prevaricated, very clearly blushing now.</p><p>“Oh come on. Don’t make me guess.” Martin laughed, drawing himself up to start doing impressions. “Come on. Was it Martin? <em>Martin</em>? MARtin?”</p><p>Jon’s shoulders were shaking like he was laughing now, his hand coming up to cover his face.</p><p>“Come on, you’ve got to give me something to go off. Laughing is not an answer Jon.” Martin chided, laughing himself. “Was it MarTIN? <em>Mah-tin</em>?”</p><p>Jon clicked his fingers, nodding and pointed at Martin, who laughed.</p><p>“Seriously? Alright, so you sound unbelievably posh then. Are you sure you don’t work at the BBC instead of the Archives?”</p><p>Jon’s eyes were fond as he shook his head. He put his pen down and laced his fingers together, stretching them out in front of them, the flexing and shaking out his right hand.</p><p>“Hand cramp?” Martin guessed, and Jon nodded. “I wish there was an easier way to communicate for you. Kind of makes me wish I could, you know, do the mind reading thing. Communicate with you that way.”</p><p>Jon shook his head, and then picked up the pen again.</p><p>
  <em>YOU DO WELL ENOUGH ON YOUR OWN. NO NEED FOR ANYTHING LIKE THAT. </em>
</p><p>“Oh sure.” Martin joked, reading over Jon’s shoulder. “You’ll hand out superpowers to the others. Why don’t I get any powers, hmm?”</p><p>Jon hesitated, before writing. <em>YOU HAD SOME. YOU COULD… BECOME INVISIBLE. </em></p><p>“Oh.” Martin sounded shocked. “That’s – did you give that power to me?”</p><p>Jon shook his head. <em>NO, YOU DEVELOPED IT ON YOUR OWN.</em></p><p>“Could I do it again?” Martin questioned, trying to process the concept that a version of him had superpowers.</p><p><em>IT ONLY HAPPENED BECAUSE YOU WERE LONELY</em>. Jon wrote, and Martin felt his previous brevity freeze, self-consciousness creeping in. <em>PETER LUKAS –</em></p><p>“Ah, so capital L Lonely then. That’s – hmm.” Martin took a moment to process that, frowning. “That tracks actually, I er –“</p><p><em>DON’T BE LONELY AGAIN. </em>Jon wrote down vehemently, his eyes beseeching Martin intently. <em>YOU DON’T NEED TO BE LONELY. YOU AREN’T ALONE NOW. YOU HAVE –</em></p><p>His hands curled over the page awkwardly, obscuring the last word, and Martin inferred what Jon meant.</p><p>“I know. I’ve got Sasha and Tim, and we’re all working together. That’s not –“</p><p>Jon’s hands unfurled a little, and Martin could make out in thin letters the last word on the page.</p><p>
  <em>ME.</em>
</p><p>“Oh.” Martin blinked down at the page, his throat suddenly feeling thick and clogged with emotion. “That’s – do you mean the Martin you knew or –“</p><p>Jon shook his head, looking determinately up at Martin, a shyness battling with a desperate sincerity in his eyes.</p><p>“Oh.” Was all Martin could say. He swallowed, and immediately regretted his next words, the question tumbling out of him. “Can I ask why?”</p><p>Jon looked strained, like he was searching for the right words, for the first time looking truly frustrated with his enforced silence.</p><p>His indecision and desperation were nearly overwhelming, and Martin almost thought to dismiss his prior question rather than wait an answer out of him when Jon reached forward and grabbed Martin’s hand in both of his, squeezing it and staring at him as though willing him to understand.</p><p>He squeezed his hand again, his eyes so earnestly beseeching Martin to know what he meant to say, and something light lifted in Martin’s heart, daring to hope what Jon could have meant by it.</p><p>“Oh.” Was all Martin could say, stunned by the revelation even as Jon threaded his fingers between Martin’s own and held his hand like he’d done so countless times before, his thin scarred fingers fitting perfectly between Martin’s fingers.</p><p>“So what does this mean?” Martin stuttered, looking at Jon with wonder. “You l-like me?”</p><p>Jon rolled his eyes as though laughing at the understatement, his face clearly heated with the confession, but he nodded, giving Martin’s hand another gentle squeeze.</p><p>“Why do you like me?” Martin asked, boggled by the concept.</p><p>Jon looked around, frustrated again at his lack of ability to communicate, and then gestured to his mask in annoyance, waving his hand at Martin like he expected him just to know.</p><p>Martin laughed. “Okay okay. Sorry, I’ll stop asking questions that you can’t answer. I – really?”</p><p>Jon gave Martin a look that clearly said ‘<em>obviously Martin’</em>. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to pick up on <em>that</em> one.</p><p>“Alright. That’s – uh – I like you too.” Martin added, his ears flushed red, awkward at this. “I – I mean from what I know about you that’s – I’d like to know more – I –“</p><p>Jon just nodded and held Martin’s hand close to his chest and seemed to savour it, closing his eyes briefly.</p><p>That holding his hand could mean so much to him spoke depths about what Martin meant to Jon and almost made him feel slightly insecure, jealous of his future self. What if Jon saw something in him that just wasn’t there in him now? Why would Jon fancy him like this? What did he see in him?</p><p>“It’s kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?” Martin rambled. “We’re doing it backwards. We’re supposed to at least go on a date or something or get to know each other before – I mean, do you want to go on a date?”</p><p>Jon opened his eyes and gave Martin a level look, before reaching for the pen.</p><p><em>A BIT HARD TO FIND THE TIME WHILE STOPPING AN APOCALYPSE</em>.</p><p>He shot Martin a wry look and Martin laughed nervously.</p><p>“Was that a yes?”</p><p>Jon nodded, clearly amused before he wrote. <em>A DATE WOULD BE LOVELY. MUCH BETTER THAN ME BURSTING INTO YOUR OFFICE ASKING YOU TO RUN AWAY WITH ME. </em></p><p>“What?” Martin laughed, reading the page and the way Jon seemed to cringe, before scribbling.</p><p>
  <em>I’M NOT VERY GOOD AT THIS. </em>
</p><p>“No, go back. I’m sorry, you did what?”</p><p>Jon looked scandalised, huffing an uppity sigh, his cheeks burning.</p><p>“You’re a romantic. You are, aren’t you?” Martin pressed, delighted. “Who does that? Seriously?”</p><p><em>IT WAS IMPORTANT!</em> Jon simply wrote, his shoulders already rising defensively.</p><p>“Oh, very important.” Martin indulged, his tone teasing. “I’m sure future me was very flattered.”</p><p><em>I – YOU’RE THE SAME PERSON</em>. Jon wrote down, his expression serious again. <em>YOU’RE THE SAME MARTIN, THERES JUST MORE TIME FOR YOU NOW. THINGS I CAN ACTUALLY PROTECT YOU FROM. MORE OF YOUR LIFE TO LIVE AND LESS TIME TO WASTE BEING – BEING NEUROTIC. I – I GET MORE OF A CHANCE TO KNOW YOU NOW AND TO SEE YOU BE HAPPY. YOU’RE NOT – IT’S NOT LIKE YOU’RE TWO DIFFERENT PEOPLE. YOU’RE MARTIN. </em></p><p>He wrote this simply as though it were an unassailable truth, and his surety floored Martin.  </p><p><em>AND YOU TOLD ME NO. YOUR ‘FUTURE SELF’.</em> Jon added. <em>AT THE TIME. YOU SAID NO, AND WE RAN AWAY TOGETHER AFTER. WE WENT TO ONE OF DAISY’S SAFE HOUSES IN SCOTLAND UNTIL –</em></p><p>“Until?” Martin probed, curious by this potential future they lived.</p><p>
  <em>UNTIL THE APOCALYPSE. </em>
</p><p>“Ah.” Martin grimaced. “That.”</p><p>Jon shared a grim look with Martin.</p><p>“What was that like? I mean – you don’t have to go into the details. Did I – you make it sound like I was there with you for it? Was Tim there? Or Sasha?”</p><p>Jon shook his head. <em>BOTH DEAD. YOU WERE THERE WITH ME. RIGHT UP TO THE END, UNTIL –</em></p><p>“Until?” Martin pried, watching Jon warily.</p><p><em>ELIAS.</em> Was all Jon wrote down, the word loaded with a fury that resonated from the page.</p><p>“Ah. Did he – you know, uh, kill me? I mean.” Martin asked, feeling like he was navigating this revelation all wrong.</p><p>Jon’s solemn expression confirmed that he did, and Martin swallowed, forcing cheerfulness into his voice to turn the subject.</p><p>“Great. Killed by my evil boss. Can’t say I’m looking forward to my performance review.”</p><p>Jon gave a muffled snort of laughter, revealing a morbid sense of humour that aligned with Martin’s own.</p><p>“Could be worse. I could’ve been blown up by evil clowns, or eaten by a table.” Martin quipped, and Jon gave him a weary sort of amused look as though agreeing with him.</p><p>Taking in Jon’s tired slump, Martin made an assessment, standing up from the table.</p><p>“It’s getting late.” He looked over to the double bed in the middle of the room, before continuing. “I know we like each other and all, I mean I know <em>now</em>. But Daisy didn’t need to get us a double. We could have had twin singles. I don’t – do you want to take turns or -?”</p><p>Jon shook his head, writing down. <em>I DON’T NEED TO SLEEP.</em></p><p>Martin put his hands on his hips. “Okay, you said that last time, but you still slept. I mean, I saw you sleeping when I woke up, so obviously that’s a lie.”</p><p>Jon looked mildly abashed that Martin had called him out on that. Martin thought it was adorable.</p><p>“Alright, well I just asked in case you weren’t comfortable with sharing. I don’t mind if you aren’t, I –“</p><p>Jon interrupted by nodding emphatically at Martin.</p><p>“You do want to share?” Martin paused to clarify, and Jon wrote on his notepad.</p><p>
  <em>I MISS YOU. </em>
</p><p>“Future me, or –“ Martin started, but Jon emphatically shook his head and underlined the word ‘you’ tapping on the page for emphasis.</p><p>“Alright, alright.” Martin held his hands up, laughing. “Just checking. Do you – are you going to come over here?”</p><p>Jon got up from the table abruptly, as though startled into action by Martin’s prompting.</p><p>It struck Martin that Jon might just occasionally forget to do things, lost in his own mind. He could see the sort of dynamic they’d have, Martin’s gentle fussing and prompting jogging Jon’s mind out from whatever pool of introspection he found himself lost in. It made him feel less jealous of what his future self had and more anticipatory of what they could have moving forward. It was a good feeling.</p><p>As Martin settled in under the covers, Jon tentatively moved to the other side of the bed, watching Martin settle with careful diligence, before sliding gracelessly under the covers next to him, holding himself a little stiff as though uncertain how they should do this.</p><p>Or perhaps he knew exactly how it should go and was merely holding himself back out of respect for Martin’s wishes.</p><p>Martin turned on his side, watching Jon awkwardly lay there for a moment, before reaching out to draw him closer, trusting that he’d let him know if it wasn’t what he wanted.</p><p>Predictably, when Martin reached out Jon seemed to melt into his embrace, taking the gentle permission for closeness and clinging to it, curling neatly into Martin’s side. He rested his head just under Martin’s chin, listening to his heartbeat, and Martin revelled in the feeling of just being held like this.</p><p>It struck Martin just how perfectly they fit together. Like they’d been doing this their entire lives.</p><p>It made him want to do just that. For his entire life.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Daisy sat on the single bed in room 311, having filled in Basira on the events of the day, cradling her phone to her ear as she unbuckled her police vest and got undressed for the evening.</p><p>“So that’s us. What’s happening on your end?”</p><p>“Not much.” Basira’s voice sounded through the phone’s speakers. “Tried to get Peter Lukas in for questioning but no one could find him. Although if this is like that paper you sent me he’s probably not going to be found unless he wants to be. Hiding in the Lonely, or whatever it is.”</p><p>“Maybe he’s just not a people person.” Daisy quipped, and Basira laughed on the other end of the line, the sound warming Daisy’s chest.</p><p>“You got that right. Kind of wish Bouchard was less of a people person though. He’s been into the station again. Wants to make a show of how cooperative he’s being. I think he just wants to keep an eye on us, make sure we’re not investigating the wrong things. He asked about you the other day.”</p><p>“Oh? What did he say?” Daisy asked, pausing as she pulled her shoes off, pressing the phone to her ear with her shoulder.</p><p>“Said to congratulate you on the good work.” Basira reported, sounding sullen. “Kind of seemed like a threat to me. Said something vague about being impressed by your track record.”</p><p>“My track record?” Daisy scrunched her nose at that.</p><p>“Yeah, he said something real cryptic. What was – I wrote it down. Right. It was – please pass on my regards to Detective Tonner. I’ve always been a fan of her work, ever since Calvin Benchley. Mean anything to you?”</p><p>Daisy paled, and swallowed, lying to Basira, her words coming out dull and clipped. “No.”</p><p>“He went on to say something vague about how he can trust your work specifically, as the police have a ‘good reputation for safeguarding the property of its benefactors’.” Basira said, reading through her notes, obviously unnerved by the interaction with Bouchard. “Sort of sounded less like he was under investigation for murder and more like we were chasing up property theft for him, which just screams dodgy to me. Especially given the kidnapping charges.”</p><p>“Right.” Daisy swallowed again, nodding brusquely. “Yeah, it does.”</p><p>“Does any of that mean anything to you?” Basira pressed, trying to make sense of her notes. “You know more than me right now because you’re in the thick of it. Any of that sticking, or do you think he’s just talking out of his arse?”</p><p>Daisy ran her tongue over her teeth, mulling her answer over, before responding, her words as abrupt as she was.</p><p>“Probably just talking out of his arse. I wouldn’t worry about any of it. He’s a dodgy bastard, says dodgy things.”</p><p>Basira hummed. “Right. Well if anything changes or you need backup just let me know. I’m here for you.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Daisy softened; her tone fonder. “Talk to you when I get back.”</p><p>“You better.” Basira’s voice sounded equally as fond, like she was smiling back in London. “Goodnight Daisy.”</p><p>“Night. Basira.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, over a complimentary continental breakfast the team planned out how they were going to tackle the day.</p><p>“They’re not going to just let us go snooping around in people’s storage lockers. That’s not how places like this work.” Sasha argued, pouring the tiny box of Frosties into a bowl with some milk. They had crowded into her hotel room, the small table by the wall piled with as many breakfast foods as they could order. “Can’t you get us a warrant or something?”</p><p>“No judge would sign a warrant. We don’t know what we’re looking for or what locker it’s in. There’d be no point.” Daisy countered, biting into an apple, sitting on the edge of the bed.</p><p>“I’ve thought about that actually.” Tim was peeling a satsuma, chewing on a segment as he spoke. “We can just say we’re looking to book some storage space for ourselves. Pretend we’re in events management or something and need to see how big the lockers are for the marquee. That way we’ll get a tour, and on the way Sasha and Jon can use their eyeball powers to find out what’s in each locker. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”</p><p>“We don’t even know what it is we’re looking for though.” Sasha lamented. “Just Salesa’s mystery artefact. That’s all we’ve got to go on.”  </p><p>Jon pressed his hand against Martin’s arm to get his attention and pointed to the notebook and pen sitting on the other side of him.</p><p>“Oh hang on. I think Jon’s got an idea.” Martin guessed, passing him the notebook and pen.</p><p>It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Jon seemed to keep finding excuses to touch Martin today, sitting close enough to him that their arms and knees kept brushing against each other. Martin hadn’t said anything, his blush daring the others to comment on it, but Tim and Sasha seemed embroiled in their own thoughts, the two of them either being too friendly to each other, or taking great pains not to look at each other.</p><p>Jon scribbled down his thoughts, Martin reading aloud over his shoulder.</p><p>“Jon thinks its – oh sorry, <em>the Eye</em> tells him it’s called the Hammer of Desolation. So I guess we’re looking for a hammer?”</p><p>“Of the Desolation?” Sasha asked flatly. “Are you sure it isn’t going to set your face on fire?”</p><p>Jon gave her a very unimpressed look.</p><p>“I’m not being negative. I – you have to consider it, right?” Sasha argued against whatever nonverbal argument Jon conveyed.</p><p>When Sasha continued to frown at Jon stubbornly, he sighed and wrote down on the page, hoping to sway the others.</p><p>
  <em>FROM WHAT I KNOW IT BELONGED TO AGNES MONTAGUE AS A CHILD, AND WAS THE ONLY TOY THAT DIDN’T BURN TO CINDERS WHEN SHE TOUCHED IT. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>THE CULT OF THE LIGHTLESS FLAME WOULD CREATE TOY HOUSES FOR HER, SHE WOULD KNOCK IT WITH HER HAMMER AND THE HOUSES WOULD INSTANTLY DISSOLVE INTO ASH LEAVING NOTHING BEHIND. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>IT’S A CHILDREN’S TOY. I HIGHLY DOUBT IT WILL HAVE ANY PERMENANT LASTING RAMIFICATIONS. </em>
</p><p>“You doubt, or you know?” Sasha pressed.</p><p>Jon wrinkled his nose, making a face behind the mask before writing.</p><p>
  <em>IT CAN’T BE THAT BAD. </em>
</p><p>“Jon!” Both Sasha and Martin exclaimed in unison.</p><p>Jon flinched a little at the noise, but to his credit he didn’t look phased.</p><p>“Leaving nothing behind! We’re not going to get you this thing if it’ll just make you – what? Disappear into ash?” Martin fretted. “That’s not – no!”  </p><p><em>AGNES HAD A CAT. </em>Jon scribbled hastily, reassuring Martin<em>. IT WAS – OH THAT’S INTERESTING. AH POINT IS, IT WOULD OFTEN STEAL THE HAMMER AND RUN AROUND WITH IT AND IT DIDN’T COMBUST SPONTANEOUSLY UNTIL AGNES WAS 12. </em></p><p>“Why did it combust?” Martin asked tightly. “Was it the –“</p><p><em>NOT THE HAMMER</em>. Jon insisted. <em>JUDE PERRY JUST GOT JEALOUS</em>.</p><p>“Of a cat?” Sasha raised an eyebrow.</p><p><em>OF AGNES’ ATTENTION.</em> Jon explained.</p><p>“That’s a bit -” Sasha wrinkled her nose.</p><p><em>I NEVER SAID SHE WAS A REASONABLE WOMAN</em>. Jon wrote wryly, flexing his burnt hand. <em>QUITE PETTY ACTUALLY. ESPECIALLY WHEN IT COMES TO HANDSHAKES.</em></p><p>“You are unbelievable.” Sasha seethed, noting the connection between his burnt hand and the words on the page, recognising the shape of fingers in the burn. “Martin, take his pen away.”</p><p>Jon clutched the pen tightly to his chest, glaring at Sasha, who winced and shut her eyes, pressing her fingertips against her eyelids.</p><p>“I don’t care if that counts as a ‘cat fact’. No.”</p><p>“What was the cat fact?” Martin asked curiously.</p><p>“The cat belonged to Gertrude Robinson.” Sasha explained briefly, before giving Jon a scolding. “No! Don’t just think it loudly at me Jon. It’s still a terrible idea.”</p><p>“What are we missing here?” Tim interjected, watching the silent argument unfold with amusement.</p><p><em>THE HAMMER ISN’T DANGEROUS</em>. Jon wrote down. <em>IT’S NOT GOING TO BURN ME TO CINDERS. IT’S JUST ABOUT THE ONLY SAFE WAY TO GET THIS THING OFF ME. </em></p><p>“Jon wants to risk getting burnt by the hammer not because he thinks it won’t hurt him, but because he thinks the Eye would heal him again. He wants to <em>trust fall</em> with an eldritch fear entity as if this omnipresent Eye gives a damn about his life.” Sasha stressed. “Maybe it would be a little easier to believe him if I didn’t keep seeing what Jude Perry did to his hand, and you just walked right up to her in the middle of a café and – God! No self-preservation instincts, this one.”</p><p>Jon didn’t even have the decency to look slightly abashed, still scribbling furiously.</p><p><em>I’M THE ARCHIVE. IF I WASN’T IMPORTANT TO THE EYE IT WOULD HAVE LET ELIAS KILL ME ALREADY. THEREFORE, I’LL BE <span class="u">FINE</span></em>!</p><p>Daisy shrugged nonchalantly. “So, let him take the risk. If he dies, he dies.”</p><p>“Some of us don’t want him to die.” Martin looked almost as stressed as Sasha now, crossing his arms.</p><p>“You do know we don’t want you to die, right?” Tim clarified, looking at Jon, a strained sort of expression on his face.</p><p>Jon looked uncannily pained by that, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe they meant what they were saying.</p><p><em>WHAT IF WHAT ANNABELLE AND SALESA SAID WAS RIGHT?</em> He hesitantly wrote down, wincing as he wrote it as though expecting backlash. <em>YOU’VE ONLY BEEN AROUND ME FOR A FEW DAYS. I KNOW YOU ALL, BUT YOU DON’T KNOW ME. YOU COULD BE –</em></p><p>“I would know.” Sasha said stubbornly. “If we were being manipulated into liking you, I would know Jon. Besides, I imagine if we were being forced to think you were wonderful it would be a lot easier to overlook how infuriating you can be.”</p><p>Her terse words shocked him out of his melancholy, and he looked utterly startled.</p><p>“Case in point, you trusting a giant eyeball god to save you from being horribly burnt!” Sasha pointed out, wheeling the conversation back around to the initial point.</p><p>Jon gave her an incredulous look, conveying something silently to her, and Sasha raised her voice, exasperated.</p><p>“Jon you are completely covered in scars! Don’t you think that’s an indicator that this Eye god doesn’t care if you get hurt?”</p><p><em>I’M STILL ALIVE, AREN’T I?</em> Jon scribbled, as though proving his point<em>. IT DOESN’T WANT TO HURT ME. THE EYE DIDN’T GIVE ME THESE SCARS.</em></p><p>“I don’t even want to get into who gave you those scars.” Sasha muttered mutinously.</p><p>“Are you lot going to keep arguing?” Daisy interjected before Sasha could start up again. “Or are you going to make a decision and stick to it? Just curious.”</p><p><em>WE’LL GO AFTER THE HAMMER</em>. Jon wrote decisively. <em>TIM’S PLAN WILL WORK. HE CAN DISTRACT THE STAFF. HE'S GOOD AT THAT. AND WE’LL LOOK THROUGH THE STORAGE UNITS. </em></p><p>“With your x-ray vision.” Tim waggled his fingers and his eyebrows in tandem. “No problem boss. I’ll schmooze with the staff, work the old Stoker charm, and you two use your spooky eyes to find the artefact. Easy peasy.”</p><p>“I’ll come with you two.” Martin nodded at Jon with a self deprecating smile. “I’m no good at schmoozing.”</p><p>“What about you, Detective?” Tim asked.</p><p>Daisy’s eyes slid from Jon, to the rest of the Archival crew, something unsaid lingering in her eyes before replying. “I’ll stick with him. Not like I planned on letting you out of my sight anyway.”</p><p>“I thought you said you weren’t suspicious of Jon anymore?” Sasha questioned suspiciously.</p><p>“Who said I’m suspicious?” Daisy countered blankly. “Not like I can protect him if I can’t see him, can I?”</p><p>Jon seemed pleased to hear that, his eyes softening fondly but Sasha merely narrowed her eyes, saying nothing.</p><p>Daisy finished her apple nonchalantly and threw the core in the bin. “Are we going then?”</p><p>Sasha hurriedly shovelled the last of her Frosties into her mouth, humming in agreement. Martin started stacking the plates neatly, before pausing and looking at Jon.</p><p>“Did you want anything Jon? Before we go?”</p><p>Jon blinked at Martin in askance, and Daisy scoffed, eyes lingering on the heavy metal gag.</p><p>“A bit cruel Blackwood.”</p><p>“I mean like, a statement or something. I just – feel bad that he –“</p><p>Daisy’s face twisted in revulsion, the reminder of Jon’s inhuman nature setting her on edge.</p><p>“Don’t bother. Feeding him trauma isn’t like giving him a bloody capri-sun. He just pulled the secrets out of entire town. He’s better off starving himself than inflicting <em>that</em> on anyone else.”</p><p>Ignoring Daisy’s censure stubbornly, Martin turned back to Jon, his mouth a little tight when he asked again.</p><p>“Can I get you a statement Jon?”</p><p>Jon shook his head, his eyes flicking over to Daisy before looking down at the floor.</p><p>“Right.” Martin sighed, shooting Daisy a bitter look. “Thanks for that.”</p><p>“Oh sure, baby the monster.” Daisy muttered derisively to herself.</p><p>“He’s not the one who tried to murder someone in the middle of a Waitrose.” Martin remarked sassily under his breath, taking the plates off the table.</p><p>Daisy didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The Swindon Space Program was a on a large block of land lined with shipping crates arranged in artful corridors. At the front of the block was a small demountable that served as the front office, with blow up astronauts zip-tied to the window beside the entrance. It was a cute gimmick, with the signage above the door declaring the business name, an orange cartoon spaceship bracketing the name. Security cameras kept watch over the site, with barbed wire on top of the fence surrounding the property.</p><p>When the group filed into the front office, a brunette woman in a smart red suit jacket was chattering on her mobile phone, holding a hand up to indicate the group wait while she finished her call.</p><p>“Fine. No that’s fine, I’ll make tracks back to head office as soon as he comes back from his lunch break. Yes, he is settling in well, as well as he can be anyway.” The woman laughed, a light airy sound, and she grinned into the phone wryly. “I know, how drab to be tethered to such worldly concerns right? Still, a pay check’s a pay check to him. To quote the man ‘we can’t all be fuck-off rich bastards’.”</p><p>Tim bit his bottom lip to muffle a snort, the archives crew politely pretending not to be eavesdropping while waiting in the small waiting room, the single fold out chair not exactly hospitable enough for a large group such as theirs.</p><p>There were packets of cardboard boxes and tape displayed, alongside signage as to the storage deal they fell under, but there was little else in the sparse office, the bulk of the business taking place out back, in the yard packed with shipping containers.</p><p>The brunette woman laughed again, wrapping her conversation up. “I know, I’ll tell him. Alright, may have to love you and leave you pops, we have customers. I know it’s not my job, I’ll let him have it when he gets back. Alright. Alright bye, enjoy the vacation!”</p><p>Snapping her flip phone shut, the woman smiled and turned to greet the group.</p><p>“Terribly sorry about that. Work call, you know how it is. Now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to apologise pre-emptively, I’m actually visiting from head office and covering for the bloke who actually works here while he’s on lunch, so any specific questions about this facility might result in somewhat vague answers, but I’m happy to help out in any way I can. My name’s Harriet. Are you all together?”</p><p>“Harriet.” Tim smiled broadly, stepping forward with his hand outstretched, laying on the charm thick. “Tim Stoker. Charmed.”</p><p>Harriet met him with a handshake that Tim used to tug her forward, placing a congenial kiss on her cheek that made the woman at the counter blush.</p><p>“Oh, how European. Aren’t you the charming one? How can I help you Tim?”</p><p>Sasha tried hard not to look put out by Tim’s easy interaction with the other woman. It was part of the plan after all, Tim was supposed to distract the staff, but could he distract her without flirting with her? Not that Sasha cared, she told him that much last night unfortunately, so she had no excuse for acting jealous.</p><p>
  <em>“Do your truth powers mean you can read minds?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh. Uh, no. They don’t –“ </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s a shame.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Can I kiss you?”</em>
</p><p>Sasha flushed, thinking back to her colossal blunder last night. Mortification had been eating at her all morning, making her more snappish than was absolutely necessary with Jon. Jon was an easy target, and she presumed if anyone was to know about her outburst last night it would be him, but assuming he could read her mind was exactly what Tim had done with her and that hadn’t gone well last night at all.</p><p>“What?” Sasha had boggled, her astonishment coming out more offended than she intended it to be.</p><p>“Can I –“ Tim started again, that damnable sincerity shining in his eyes, but Sasha couldn’t handle it, looking away from him abruptly, defensiveness startling a laugh out of her.</p><p>“No – I – I heard you the first time. Um - this isn’t. Look, this doesn’t seem like – like the time, and I know you don’t – Look just save it for someone else maybe. I know what you’re thinking.”</p><p>“I thought you just said you didn’t.” Tim raised an eyebrow, leaning back now, taking in the terseness in Sasha’s shoulders with a small frown. “Sash –“</p><p>“No, I mean. I know what you’re like.” She said, as if that explained everything. “No, I mean, I’m not – this isn’t – I’m not going to be – this isn’t like one of your –“</p><p>“My what?” Tim pulled back now, his nose wrinkling in a familiar way, his brows knitting together. “One of my what, Sasha?”</p><p>“I just – sorry, I just. I’m not comfortable with -” Sasha blurted out, her words clumsy and jagged. “I just, I don’t know what you think this is? I –“</p><p>She could see that Tim was backing down, reading into her words in ways she couldn’t have predicted. He was hurt, she could see it in his face, the hurt creeping into his eyes, but still he persisted, baring more of his damnable sincerity to her.</p><p>“So look then. I mean, you’ve got freaky mind powers. What will it hurt to look. I just said I trusted you. Rather than muck about, you could just –“ Tim pressed, rather insistently.</p><p>“Tim, no. This isn’t some kind of freakshow, alright?” Sasha stressed, coming across as somewhat hysterical now. Tim had offered her unrestrained access to his mind – to know what he really thought of her, and rather than take him up on the opportunity, Sasha was running away, afraid to look. “It’s not a party trick. It might be fascinating or whatever, but it’s not – it’s scary. What’s happening to me, and while I might be alright with some aspects of it, it’s not like I want to just trot out my –“</p><p>“Alright, alright!” Tim held his hands up apologetically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –“</p><p>“Yes, well. Just – just leave it. I – I’m tired. I want to go to bed.” Sasha said resolutely, hating herself for it.</p><p>“Well, alright then.” Tim’s frown deepened. “Sorry to have offended you. I shouldn’t have assumed. I was just asking-”</p><p>“Well, you didn’t need to.” Sasha had blundered further, pushing her meal away from her and walking to the treacherous double bed, sliding under the covers. “I’m going to sleep. Tops and tails, remember.”</p><p>Tim had stared at her for a long loaded moment, before responding. “Sure. Night Sasha.”</p><p>He had turned the lights off afterwards, tidying up and reading by his phone light, before he eventually slunk in under the covers next to her, bringing his pillow to the foot of the bed.</p><p>Sasha was awake throughout, pretending to be asleep, all the while cursing herself for pushing Tim back. She knew without looking how Tim felt about her, he was an open book, even without beholding powers. It was her feelings she was afraid of. Her own fear that made her selfish. She could have turned around at any point in the night, started up the conversation again, fallen into him knowing he'd be there to catch her, but she was too afraid. </p><p>They hadn’t talked about it in the morning either, their miscommunication continuing. At first Tim tried to act overly friendly with her, like nothing was wrong, but there were moments when they couldn’t meet each other’s gaze. They’d changed from a well oiled machine to something awkward and clunky.</p><p>It was horrible.</p><p>And now Sasha had to pretend that Tim’s flirting with the woman at the front desk didn’t bother her.</p><p>Maybe he was laying it on thick to get back at her? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t trying to know.</p><p>If anything, she was sulking.</p><p>“A marquee you say? Well, I’m certainly happy to give you a tour until Mike get’s back. He can help you with the actual logistics, but I’m told I’m an excellent tour guide. It’s one of my other jobs within the company. A varied portfolio you know. The Swindon Space Program is just one of our many enterprises, with the noble goal in mind of reacquainting the public with just how much space they can get back in their lives when they invest in offsite storage.” Harriet explained with a smile, ushering them into the back room that led to the storage facility proper, her arm looped around Tim’s, clinging to him like the others were just an afterthought. “Come, I’ll give you the tour.”</p><p>“I like the astronauts.” Tim joked, flicking one of the blow up astronauts in the lobby as they passed it.</p><p>“Cute, aren’t they?” Harriet laughed, tossing her hair back. “Much less talkative than real astronauts, but I suppose that’s part of their charm. There was this one guy, Carter. Totally clingy, the poor fellow, and he could not shut up about space. He was an astronaut.”</p><p>“Astronauts’ your type then?” Tim quirked a brow at her flirtatiously, the young woman eating it up.</p><p>“Carter? Definitely not. I told him we needed <em>space</em>. Haven’t heard from him since. It’s like he just disappeared.” She smiled, her smile a red vicious thing, Sasha thought, or maybe she was just projecting. “So how long have you been in publishing?”</p><p>Interrupting Sasha from her current pastime (glaring at Harriet) Daisy leaned down and muttered to Sasha.</p><p>“Looks like Stoker’s got her distracted. Time to start looking then?”</p><p>“Is he here?” Martin asked nervously. “You know, Michael?”</p><p>Jon shook his head, the fabric mask covering the metal one once more, and scribbled on his notebook.</p><p>
  <em>I CAN’T SENSE HIM, BUT HE’S ALWAYS BEEN DIFFICULT TO PREDICT. I’M NOT SURE WE CAN RELY ON HIM TO BE HELPFUL. </em>
</p><p>“So, it’s down to us then.” Sasha presumed with a sigh. “Manual searching it is.”</p><p>“What happens when we find the storage locker?” Martin asked. “We don’t exactly have a key.”</p><p>“Shoot the lock off?” Daisy suggested, her hand drifting tellingly to her jacket pocket.</p><p>“Don’t you think that will draw too much attention?” Sasha scolded.</p><p>“Well, unless anyone here knows how to pick locks?” Daisy said dryly.</p><p><em>WE’LL WORRY ABOUT THAT WHEN WE GET THERE</em>. Jon wrote down brusquely. <em>WE SHOULD START LOOKING</em>.</p><p>Trailing slightly behind Tim and Harriet, Martin and Daisy watched carefully as Jon and Sasha’s eyes glinted green, staring through the metal of each shipping container as they passed it, listing the contents within.</p><p>“This one’s just offsite storage. Retailer stuff. I see handbags and shoes.” Sasha listed.</p><p>“What’s in this one?” Martin asked Jon curiously, leaning over his shoulder to read.</p><p><em>FURNITURE BELONGING TO A MRS REDFIELD</em>. Jon wrote down, his explanations involving a great deal more extrapolation than Sasha’s. <em>SHE BECAME OBSESSED WITH THE CONCEPT OF MINIMALIST CHIC. WAS SOMEWHAT CLAUSTROPHOBIC TO THE POINT OF GETTING RID OF ALL HER FURNITURE FOR FEAR OF FEELING ENCLOSED. </em></p><p>“Huh, that’s…”</p><p>
  <em>THIS SHIPPING CONTAINER IS ONE OF SALESA’S. CONTAINS AN OLD WOODEN CRATE THAT CONTINUALLY RESTRICTS AND SUFFOCATES WHOEVER OPENS IT SHOULD THEY FALL ASLEEP. IT’S CURRENTLY EMPTY. </em>
</p><p>“Great. So uh, this is a spooky storage facility then?” Martin quested, surmising as much from Jon’s scribblings.</p><p>“How come Jon gets to see the spooky things and all I’m seeing is boxes of knock off handbags?” Sasha griped sarcastically.</p><p><em>DO YOU WANT TO SWAP?</em> Jon wrote down, but from the arch of his brow it was clear he was also being somewhat sarcastic.</p><p>“Oh, I think I’ve got something.” Sasha brightened, squinting into the next container. “A bunch of lasers I think. Or you know, machines that make lasers.”</p><p>“Spooky lasers?” Martin guessed.</p><p>“Could be. I don’t know.” Sasha shrugged. “Could just be medical equipment. You know, dermatology lasers or whatever. Still cooler than handbags.”</p><p>“No sign of this Michael guy then?” Daisy prompted, trying to keep the team on track.</p><p>“So much for friendship.” Sasha griped.</p><p>
  <em>OH I’M SURE HE’LL OFFER IT AGAIN WHEN IT SUITS HIM. THE SPIRAL IS PERSISTENT LIKE THAT. PERSISTENTLY ANNOYING. </em>
</p><p>“You’re telling me.” Sasha laughed. “First it looks like he wants to kill me, then he offers me flowers, then he terrifies me, then he offers to help me, then he steals exactly what we’re looking for and honestly, I’ve not really had any guarantee he doesn’t still want to kill me.”  </p><p><em>HE PROBABLY STILL DOES.</em> Jon wrote, his expression light despite the words on the page. <em>HE HAS GREAT DISTASTE FOR ARCHIVISTS.</em></p><p>“So I’m a proper Archivist now then?” Sasha probed. “Not a – not a ‘baby’ one like they keep telling me?”</p><p>Jon tilted his head, thinking on that for a moment, before scribbling down. <em>YOU’RE SOMEWHERE BETWEEN A PROPER ARCHIVIST AND AN ASSISTANT. </em></p><p>“That’s not what it says in the job title Jon.” Sasha corrected him gamely. “Pretty sure I’m Head Archivist, if not Spooky Archivist.”</p><p><em>THE ARCHIVIST AS A TITLE IS A MISNOMER</em>. Jon wrote, a shade of distaste passing across his face. <em>THE PURPOSE OF THE INSTITUTE ISN’T TO ORGANIZE AND PRESERVE ACCOUNTS OF THE STATEMENT GIVERS, BUT TO FUNNEL THEM THROUGH THE FOCAL POINT OF THE ARCHIVIST SO THE FEAR MAY BE RE-LIVED AND EXPERIENCED ANEW. I’M NOT SURE WHAT THIS MEANS FOR YOUR ROLE, BUT AS YOU’VE YET TO BECOME DEPENDANT ON STATEMENTS IT SEEMS UNLIKELY THAT YOU’RE AN ARCHIVIST IN THE WAY THAT ELIAS INTENDS YOU TO BE. YOU ARE MORE LIKELY AN ARCHIVIST IN THE TRADITIONAL SENSE, SAFEGUARDING AND PRESERVING THE ARCHIVE. </em></p><p>“Which in this case is you.” Sasha presumed. “Literally, keeping you safe. That’s my supernatural job.”</p><p>
  <em>I GUESS SO? MAYBE? </em>
</p><p>“Does that mean I get a gun or something?” Sasha asked bluntly, clearly joking.</p><p>Jon looked startled, but Martin was already nodding, playing along with the joke.</p><p>“I think that means we all get them. Does that make us all Archivists? Because, you know – protecting Jon and all.”</p><p>“I’ve got a gun.” Daisy added, her mouth curling in a slight smile.</p><p>“Maybe it’s a metaphorical gun.” Sasha mused, laughing at Jon’s expression. She was certain if he could talk, he’d be spluttering right now.</p><p>“Maybe Sasha’s been the gun all along.” Martin nodded sagely, laughing when Jon scribbled.</p><p>
  <em>WE ARE IN ENGLAND, YOU REALISE?? WHO – WHY SHOULD ANYONE HAVE –</em>
</p><p>“Metaphorical guns?” Sasha rubbed her chin. “In this economy?”</p><p>“Can’t afford not to.” Martin bit back a smile, that was reluctantly mirrored in Jon’s eyes.</p><p>Prodding them back on course Daisy pointed to the next shipping container. “What’s in this one then?”</p><p>“More of Salesa’s stuff I think.” Sasha answered for Jon, her eyes flaring green. “So we must be getting close. There’s some dice, uh a leather pouch. Some kind of whistle – OH! That’s it, the hammer!”</p><p>“It’s in that one?” Daisy confirmed, the group coming to a stop while Tim and Harriet walked on ahead.</p><p>“Yes, I can definitely see it. A little wooden hammer, it’s red and pink.” Sasha peered into the metal of the shipping container, her eyes glowing.</p><p>“Any sign of Michael?” Martin probed. “He does have the key.”</p><p>Jon was scribbling something down, but Daisy spoke over him, looking down the aisle to see Tim and Harriet turn the corner, out of sight now. She reached into her jacket pocket, withdrawing her gun.</p><p>“No point waiting around. Let’s just get it now.”</p><p>“No – the – the noise! Won’t that draw attention?” Martin stuttered, holding a hand out warily as Daisy aimed her gun at the lock.</p><p>“Better be quick then.” Daisy rolled her shoulders and lined the muzzle of the gun up against the lock, firing off a shot.</p><p>The sound echoed loudly in the storage yard, the sound almost refracting off itself for a moment.</p><p>A distorted breathy giggle filled in the silence after the shot was fired, a clear indicator that Michael had arrived.</p><p>Yanking the door to the storage unit open, Daisy and the group saw as a yellow door closed on the wall of the shipping container, a key left on the box where the hammer had sat.</p><p>“Fuck.” Daisy cursed.</p><p>“He took it?” Sasha questioned, aghast, walking a few steps into the container, looking for the hammer. Confirming her suspicions, she continued, frustrated. “He took it. He took it and left Salesa’s key. Really helpful.”</p><p>Jon just stood there, the words – <em>WATCH OUT, MICHAEL</em>– trailing off on the page. His shoulders slumped somewhat, stunned that this could have gone so wrong so quick.</p><p>It was like nothing could ever go right for him. Before the thought ‘could this day get any worse’ could cross his mind, the universe provided the answer.</p><p>“Hey, what are you doing there?”</p><p>Jon jumped, his eyes wide and startled.</p><p>He recognised that voice.</p><p>“Are you lot alright? I heard a noise.” Came Harriet’s voice from the opposite side of the yard, pausing before stating. “Oh Mike, you’re back.”</p><p>A short pale man of stocky build stood by the back door of the front office, wearing a black polo shirt with the Swindon Space Project logo on the front pocket. He had a utility belt with a walky talky attached to it and held a chip butty in his hand.</p><p>His pale eyes were narrowed, and tracing down his face and neck, the pink scar tissue of a Lichtenburg figure made clear exactly who they were dealing with.</p><p>“Harriet, did you give them a key?” Mike asked, his voice level in a way that seemed to indicate he was trying very hard to remain so.</p><p>Daisy had hid her gun in her jacket when Mike first called out, taking in the scene with careful precision, looking between the players and the exits.</p><p>Jon was tugging on Martin’s shirt sleeve now, itching to run away, his breathing already speeding up in preparation for the remembered torture of an endless breathless fall. His heart was practically beating out of his chest with panicked adrenaline. He felt floaty, sickeningly so, like he was seconds away from a full blown panic attack. </p><p>How could he have been so <em>stupid</em>? He should have <em>known</em> before they stepped into a stronghold of the Vast. They’d spent all morning chatting to Harriet Fairchild of all people. And now they were facing off against Mike Crew, the man who had tortured Jon for half an hour, metaphysically waterboarding him, suffocating him via vertigo in an endless loop. The panic was clawing in Jon's throat, remembered panic competing with the panic of exposing his friends to Mike's methodical torture. He had to warn them. </p><p>He grabbed Martin’s hand, turning it flat in his own palm, readying himself to write out a message, even as his vision grew hazy with lightheadedness.</p><p>“Um, I’ve got a key.” Sasha tentatively walked out of the storage unit, holding Salesa’s key aloft, preparing to bluff their way through the encounter. “Is that alright?”</p><p>Mike Crew continued to walk towards them, his eyes noting Jon’s reaction with suspicion, something that made Daisy narrow her eyes dangerously.</p><p>Sasha’s quick bluffing continued, trying to draw attention away from the others, her voice full of forced cheer. “Sorry, we were just running some errands for a friend. Don’t think Tim mentioned that since he’s focused on the marquee. Harriet’s been showing us around. Honestly, if I’d’ve known there was a place like this in Swindon I’d have come earlier. I think it’s a great idea.”</p><p>“Right.” Mike gave Jon’s clear panic a dubious glance, before continuing. “Your friend seems a bit jumpy, that’s all. Maybe he needs a cuppa, calm him down some.”  </p><p>“Tea sounds –“ Martin started, his words trailing off as he registered the letters Jon was tracing onto his palm. “Er…”</p><p>R U N.</p><p>“Last chance for that cup of tea.” Mike said, watching Jon directly now, like he was drinking in his fear.</p><p>Daisy recognised the danger in his voice and acted quickly, punching Mike Crew in the face and slamming him to the ground with her shoulder.</p><p>Harriet gave a small scream behind them as Daisy withdrew her gun from her pocket, aiming it at Mike.</p><p>“Is he a monster?” She asked Sasha, tilting her head slightly.</p><p>“Oh.” Sasha seemed to realise who they were dealing with, her eyes glowing green with understanding. “He’s –“</p><p>“Has he killed people?”</p><p>“Yes, a – a few I think.” Sasha stammered as Mike began to rouse, cradling his broken nose.</p><p>He glared at them, before smirking confidently. “So much for being polite.”</p><p>All of a sudden Daisy and Sasha gasped, a breathless horror whitening their complexions. Their muscles were tensed, frozen, a scream choking in their throats.</p><p>There was a rushing sound, like wind whipping wildly about them, Sasha and Daisy caught in a localised sort of slipstream, too frozen with fear to fire the pistol, or look for the truth that could set them free.</p><p>Martin made a start towards them, wanting to help, but found himself similarly frozen and winded, the air knocked right out of him as this unquestionable sense of vertigo overtook him.</p><p>Jon clutched onto Martin’s hand helplessly, his friends all freefalling mentally while glued to the spot. Remembered terror filled his mind, causing him to disassociate and his eyes started to glaze, green haze trailing in the air around his irises.</p><p>“Nice one Harriet.” He could distantly hear Mike say, as he pulled himself up off the ground. “You let a Hunter and a bunch of Beholding’s lot bloody shoot the lock off one of the units. I leave you alone for five minutes.”</p><p>“You know I’m a sucker for a pretty face.” Harriet whined in response, patting Tim on the chest as he stood, muscles locked and breathless. “He said he liked extreme sports too. It’s not my fault I got distracted.”</p><p>“Well, what are we supposed to do with them now? Call Simon?”</p><p>“He was base jumping in Norway a second ago. He might be out of range. That’s –“</p><p>Harriet’s sentence was cut off by an object falling out of the sky, plummeting directly on top of Mike’s head.</p><p>Mike swore, clutching his skull and staggering.</p><p>On the floor lay an old-fashioned tape recorder, the corner stained with blood.</p><p>“What the fuck?”</p><p>A shadow passed overhead, and Mike Crew looked up at the cloud of spontaneously materialised tape recorders directly above him, all tumbling out of the sky simultaneously.</p><p>Released from Mike’s vertigo, the Archives team staggered forward, gasping for air. Martin looked over to Jon just in time to see his skin split, an eyeball much like the one that materialised over him in the Waitrose blinking out from his forehead, Jon’s own eyes glazed a toxic green while the third eye watched the deluge of tape recorders come hurtling down.</p><p>They hit Mike Crew in quick succession, the thudding thwack of their landing soon sounding wet and unpleasant.</p><p>When Mike Crew was just a bloodied pulp of a man lying on the ground, surrounded by tape recorders, the eye closed, satisfied, fading away to nothingness on Jon’s skin – the only sign that it had been there a small thin crescent of scar tissue where the eye had been.</p><p>Jon staggered forward into Martin’s arms weakly.</p><p>“Killed on the first week at the job. Hmm. How sad.” Harriet regarded Mike’s corpse with wide eyes, her lips pressed together in a thin slash of lipstick. “Right. Raincheck on the date. I don’t think our lifestyles are compatible.”</p><p>She patted Tim’s chest brusquely, before affecting a cheery smile once more.</p><p>“Would love to stay and chat, but you know, I like living. Ta-ta~!”  </p><p>And with that she fell upwards into the sky before blinking out of existence entirely.</p><p>Tim blinked at the sky, baffled, before he staggered towards the group, making a beeline for Sasha.</p><p>“Is everyone okay?”</p><p>“Just – just a bit out of breath.” Sasha gasped, leaning into Tim’s hand as he clasped her shoulder, bending down to check her face.</p><p>“So that wasn’t just a group hallucination then? Everyone else felt like they were falling without moving?”</p><p>“I feel like – throwing up.” Daisy gritted out, clutching her stomach nauseously.</p><p>“It kind of did feel like going on a rollercoaster.” Tim conceded. “If that rollercoaster hated you.”</p><p>“Don’t like rollercoasters.” Daisy said, looking decidedly green. She put her hands on her knees for a few seconds, trying to ride out the nausea.</p><p>“Is – is he dead?” Martin asked tentatively, trying not to look at the blood beneath the pile of tape recorders.</p><p>“Good question. What the fuck just happened? Jon?”</p><p>“Er –“ Martin looked back at Tim, adjusting his arms to reveal that the smaller man had promptly passed out following his pith of supernatural activity. “Jon’s –“</p><p>Jon’s body was limp, his head lolling forward onto Martin’s chest in an uncomfortable position. His arms were slack at his sides, Martin practically holding Jon up so his legs couldn’t give out. He was still breathing thankfully but he didn't look conscious. </p><p>Tim blinked at him for a moment before muttering. “Brilliant.”</p><p>“He’s dead.” Sasha confirmed without looking at the body. “Mike Crew. He – we should get out of here. He’s – it’s – there’s a dead body and –“</p><p>“Don’t see how it could get pinned on us though.” Tim tried for a joke. “Just a freak accident. Raining, not cats or dogs, but tape recorders of all things. Is this a joke?”</p><p>“Certain statements only record on tape.” Sasha said, finally settled enough to be able to stand upright, the latent vertigo wearing off. “Besides, I don’t think the people who’d come and investigate are really sceptical about this sort of thing. Nearly everything in these storage containers are – well, I guess you could say this place has a specific clientele.”</p><p>“Right. Right.” Tim nodded, trying to come up with a plan that didn’t verge on hysterical. Failing that, he put his hands on his hips. “Anyone know how to get rid of a body?”</p><p>He didn’t expect an answer, but when Daisy straightened up he supposed he really should have known.</p><p>“Get a shovel.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>something something that one joke about how long the magnus archives would have been if sasha had a gun, with the picture with the two books<br/>P.S. I had a really good nap, then decided to stay up all night and change every instance of John to Jon in the fic since everyone is calling him Jon anyway. You're welcome</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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